Alfred von der Marwitz

Have you see the OVA or read the manga series of Hellsing?  If so how far have you gotten?  If not please direct your attention to YouTube, and watch OVA 1-4 at least.  Warning: If you have watched the anime we require you watch the OVA, or read the manga.  The anime is not canon.  This is not our opinion.  This is the law set down by the creator of Hellsing, Kouta Hirano. Yep.

Name: Anonymously famously known as Alfred von der Marwitz. Lost your witz over that eh?

Age: Officially, 107 years old, biologically in his 30's.

Gender: He is male, manly man, testosterone filled, and a snake hater. Just a man.

Physical appearance: Creatively, he is 6'3" feet tall, that's in feet, note that different scale. Eye color is hazel, and his eyes are scornful in spite of the angelic face he has been blessed with. One often remarks that he is that nice kid who'd grow up to be a doctor or maybe a dentist, only to be in disbelief he is actually a blood sucking murderous maniac whose idea of past time is eating babies. Anyways, he has an angelic face, often laden with an arrogant smile, and a demeanor that he is not so above getting his hands dirty. His hair is slicked back, and blonde. His skin is pinkish, and his teeth is white. Very hygienically inclined, or maybe just germ free. Also very pointy and sharp, don't let him nibble you. You'll regret it. His build is athletic and quite well toned, with some bulk to go with it. He weighs probably 180 pounds, has to do with his diet of blood. Fatties, take note of that. His hands are spidery, yet leathery when feeling the tips of his hands. A hard work of blister had perhaps rendered his fingers rough to the touch that you'd know he has been through warfare. Not recommended to be caressed, unless one likes to have their face be felt by sand-paper-like hands. Also Equestrian, as the term gets passed around. Hair feels like fur though. Golden fur, oddly enough.

Nonetheless, he is Caucasian, and his face is often a cheerful sort. It is soft, and lacks the malevolent glee other Millennium soldiers have, but make no mistake, he is a killer. His innocent smile? Just the satisfaction and child-like glee one gets from a day well spent committing atrocities as much as laughing at a joke. Overall, he is pale like the rest of Millennium soldiers, but has more complexion in him as he is damned like them, but of a different affliction.

Clothing of choice: When he doesn't wear anything, he tends to be naked. When he wears something, he can wear his uniform. Fitting him quite well as he has a G-string worn, for comfort reason on his pasty cold ass, a black shirt with his rank designated on his collar, a side cap sometimes when he has to wear a hat, a double breasted jacket that he wears over his uniform shirt, a pair of black gloves, a pair of trousers with suspenders hanging from underneath the shirt, and jackboots that reaches up almost to his knee. The reason why he wears those would be a result of the messy work he tends to do, and black doesn't easily show pigmentation accrued as a result of discoloration from maintenance, oil, as well as soot that he has grown accustomed to. It shows that he is in fact a member of the Panzer-pionier-bataillon, and more importantly, the cuffs he has and the insignia, from the 2nd SS Panzer Division Das Reich. He tends to have pockets on his double breasted jacket, as well as a tactical webbing underneath on his shirt to carry extra ammunition and other assortment if need be.

Carries a number of medals that he doesn't wear when on duty, all earned in the line of fire. Including the Knight's Cross among others for distinguished service in the battlefield.

Modified his clothes to be stretchy. Helps in some occasions best left unmentioned.

Weaponry of choice:

MG 42: Guzzling between 1200 to 1500 RPM like a non-stop gushing muchine, the MG-42 is a machine gun catered to the Nazi German forces of the Third Reich. An improvement over the MG-34 as it is featured for assaults, and mainly portability as far as anyone is concerned. Alfred uses it given sheer volume, and his recent adoption as an assault type trooper. It is a regular MG-42 though which means the archaic ammo cannot be found anywhere but from Millennium headquarters, or from vintage collectors. The latter being harder to find, unless internet is employed. Both very deadly.

Additionally, Alfred can use it as if it were a normal assault rifle, with little problems with the recoil, firing it quite accurately on the go thanks to his unnatural condition. He often carries two ammo boxes/ammunition belt that are weighing on his belt from left to right, both have 250 rounds and have disintegrating links. Freudian Overdrive go!



Model 24 Stielhandgranate: The famed German stick grenade, tried and tested, true throughout World War I even leading up to World War II. Used in huge quantities by Millennium as the go-to grenade when the situation calls for it. Even with super strength, it calls for the use of explosives as a military force in order to achieve destruction a simple kick or punch cannot achieve on it's own. Granted hits from vampires can hurt, and kill... a lot. As per standard, Alfred carries this on his webbing.

He carries about five of them, around his belt, with the standard safety caps on which he can remove easily to fling. It is filled with more potent explosives to inflict more suffering and also kill more people, as per Alfred's tastes. Then again, these ARE grenades from Millennium, which is filled with more explosive power than normal, and are shown to have very messy effects.


.45 ACP caliber Luger Serial #2: Arguably a coveted pistol around the world, originally there were two serials of this model produced, with the first one phased out in favor of the second. Being made for the powerful .45 caliber, as an unknown amount of it is produced. Lingering evidence also shows that a fifth serial was found in the Third Reich itself, with some models of the 2nd Serial kept in tow there. Theorized to have been given to high ranking officers, and rarely to distinguished soldiers. Alfred happens to be one of those few given this pistol, which he keeps as a favored sidearm, keeping about 7 magazines on his mag pouches whilst holstering it in the holster on his webbing. It can be pulled out for a quick draw,and has been given hollow point when it was developed for the .45 ACP round. It was given hollow point in mind for suffering and tearing apart the interiors of the victim. He would recommend other calibers, but is stuck with the .45 much to his chagrin.


Adjustable Spanner, Monkey Wrench, Wire Cutter: Both of which are placed into a special pouch, they are used for mechanical work that Alfred finds himself in. Be it for repair, or sabotage, Alfred can comply with such conditions and even modify some equipment on the go, so long as he has the materials at hand to do it.

Race: Lycanthrope, Youngling.

Abilities: Aluminum-like skin, great weakness to blessed and silver weaponry (fatal), regeneration (takes up to 15 posts max to regenerate major wound damage such as limb loss), agelessness, medium super strength, agility, stamina, reflexes, durability and senses, ability to transform into a Lycanthrope (simply a humanoid wolf form), the ability to transform back into a human with some trouble; it is much easier to transform back and forth from the wolf from and humanoid form with the full moon.

Additionally, Alfred has mechanical expertise to repair typically firearms, modify them, and repair tanks as well as operate radios. Of course, a mechanic without his tools is as useful as a swordsman without his weapon, they would not be worthy of that title, which is why he carries around his tools. Given his role, he is often used for either repairs, or recon. Also can make use explosives and sap as a spy. Engineers better beware.

As per Millennium forces, he is well trained and quite competent, with the added experience of having practical hand to hand combat as he had one too many encounters. Having made use of his shovel, all the way to his hands to kill the enemy that tries to do the same thing. Having seen the bloodiest battles and lived to tell the tale as part of the infamous 2nd SS Panzer Division, it can attest that he knows his stuff when it comes to combat, from a tactical point of view to a personal point of view. Henceforth should it need be, he can act as a squad leader or even as a tank commander should it come to that.

And finally, what lays as unique within Alfred would be advanced kinesthesia, he is quite precise and dexterous when need be, and as such, ideal for quick mechanical works, or even on the field where his agility is far more honed.

Organization: Millennium the Nazi organization that is Nazi.

Personality: Alfred von der Marwitz wasn't made a sadist, he was molded into it later in life. Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others; schadenfreude. That earlier on in the epoch of his life, he was otherwise an optimistic person whom held high aspirations and an idealized view of the world, seeing it from a romantic point of view instead of the realistic. The German economy was getting back up, a career prospect awaited him, and he even considered joining the army for prestige. There was no way they could lose, and the battlefield is perhaps quite valorous where he could prove his might. Boy was he wrong, where his expectations fell flat and kicked him right in the face. It was bloody, death was abundant, and despite what earlier successes he had, that later he would see his own unit whom he called comrade get torn to shreds. The allies were despicable to him, having taken away fathers, brothers and sons. Everyone had a family he knew, and they made promises to return, and yet they just died. Yet why was he alive? A man of no family? Why was he left in his lonesome, often times counting himself among the lucky to live to fight another day? Often he pondered these questions, which would reveal he can be philosophically inclined.

He became cynical as a result, and sardonic. Coping with these sudden violence often takes different effects, for Alfred, he started seeing the world as one big comedy, and him in the lead role of it. He started to see it all as silly, and even started taking amusement in it. Why the fuss anyways? He is destined to die, adopting a fatalistic point of view, but fuck, he ain't going to go down dying that easily. He'll make his death worth it. That perhaps he can go to Valhalla instead of Hel. He did not want to die an inglorious death, in fact, if he could help it, he would maintain his attitude to fight another day. A dead man is a useless man in the field of battle, only to be used as cadaver, or to rot in the burial ground. He became hopeful as well as filled with sadistic glee. The battlefield turned from Hell to a place of respite. Kill the people that would kill you, and make them rot. To experience the crescendo of war firsthand, perhaps even be amputated in the process and stab a Yank in the face with a sharp bone protruding from the wound.

Whatever the case, Alfred is quite jovial in his interactions, albeit with some sardonic outlook of things, dour if anything. He rarely seems to consider his morality to be anything but might makes right, and strength can manifest itself in any ways possible, it doesn't have to just come from physical prowess, it can come to the cerebral circuit in the head -- the brain. To consider everything, and even sometimes border lines of paranoia with some compulsive consideration to all factors.

A curse perhaps that comes from having higher intelligence, or perhaps developed later in life? Which brings unto the next point, Alfred has cunning tampered by knowledge and intellect. Using his superior grammar and skills (see what I did there?), he would kill a person by shooting them in the face. Of course, being intelligent does NOT necessarily mean in doing something smart, just that being more competent when it counts or comes to it. This is just the personality model Alfred follows, because he knows no others. Indoctrination made him a killing machine, and experience insightful. He is a Millennium soldier, and he is worth a thousand soldiers, as all others are. Millennium forces range around a thousand, henceforth they are worth a million. It makes him proud to know this, as his morale is quite high to perform with diligence and without fail, without sacrificing the prospect reality will lurk it's ugly face and stick itself up the rectum.

Often found smiling, very cheerful and happy. Life's been far simpler and nicer that way. Don't sweat the petty things, but don't pet the sweaty things, or so he likes to quote. Also avid Nietszschian.

Rank: Hauptscharführer/Chief Squad Leader.

Biography: Born in Dusseldorf, with an average family that raised him in the standards at the time of German families -- with strict discipline but also some pride and emphasis on patriarchies, Alfred was given a view of the world through the colored lens of nationalism. Germany was united, Germany was an Empire, henceforth Germany is good for everyone, for how can people contest the prosperity brought from the German Empire? But as a young lad, he didn't know any better from what atmosphere brewed. The Great War beckoned around as he quietly finished his education, and tended to his life as normal people at the time tended to do. Mostly preparing for a career, with him considering one in the military as his brother was among them.

The streets were often filled with marching troops met with the adoring cheer of citizens that were waving them off, those that will defend the Fatherland in the name of the Kaiser. Maintain such prosperity as deceitful Serbia had sent their Black Hand assassin to kill the Archduke of Austria. Those villains made everything worse, that single man that pulled the trigger on the Austrian, having blown up the powder keg of the Balkans. But, the soldiers were off to fix that, to help their Austro-Hungarian friends. His brother was among the soldiers that went off, having had an influence on him from what brief interactions they had, Alfred was impressionable enough to want to grow up into a soldier like his brother one day and defend the Fatherland.

But years went by, as the war dragged on. For those four years, at first things were alright, he had continued his education, and the meals got less, but he barely noticed. As time dragged on gradually, war was felt back at the Fatherland, and he starved. He soon developed anger, being ticked off that why was a prosperous Germany starving? In fact, WHY was his food getting less and less? Also why was his time spent in class less? And more importantly, WHY DID GERMANY REMOVE THE RESTRICTIONS ON MARRIAGE AGE? It dawned to him much to his horror, that they were running out of people, and Germany was desperate for soldiers. BIG WHOOP. So anyways, soon enough, fighting lingered closer to the homeland as treacherous Yanks joined the fray after those Russian cowards ran off, or so in Alfred's head went on. Perhaps now that they can concentrate on one front, that they can actually focus on more important matters like food, instead of the Ersatz cheap stuff Alfred was being fed. On a personal level, he was feeling the suffering and agony of the nation, because as a whole, everyone lingered with hunger and scarcity of resources, whilst the brave men fought on with territories that are in a stalemate. He was hopeful that they would succeed and impose a measure of reparations demanded of those hostile Allies. He was wrong. The Central Powers lost, as more and more nations deserted them, that Germany was eventually forced to sign the Versailles Treaty, which effectively destroyed the Empire. It crippled Germany, it made it nothing more than a Republic.

It was agonizing humiliation, that much they endured at home all amounted to nothing, the agonies ended with Germany paying out of its own life blood just to repay the allies for a war they encouraged and fostered. His brother may have survived, but he came back pessimistic. He told Alfred after him somewhat enthusiastically asking him as to how the battlefields were in his youthful enthusiasm, he was told that there was nothing pretty about it, and he had too many dead to even consider it anywhere glorious. The arrogance of youth blinded Alfred as he thought it being a defeatist talk. As of this point though, starvation was starting to romp up as the remnants of the Empire suffered. Alfred was sour about this whole affair, and used this time to scrounge up for food. Picking up theft as he took from shops whilst there was sometimes the occasional raids or two from the hungry populace who could not even afford to pay for bread, with Reichmarks taking such a huge hit of inflation, that it would take fat wads of them in stacks carried on a plow just to pay off for some loaf of bread. He did not want that, and he did not think he deserved that fate, nobody did, but it was a gritty life. It somewhat dirtied his satin silky view of the world, but he was nowhere a cynic yet. It went on for a while as he hasn't run into trouble, only finding a few occasions in which his fleet footing has saved him from perhaps potentially harmful punishment incurred by a wrathful businessman or two.

As the Nazi party rose up through a meteoric popularity, further cemented in approval from the people under their charismatic leader as many acts of questionable and dubious nature was done by the party, has created an opportunity. Making and sowing the the economy once again as everyone had a role in society, instead of the chaotic ruins left in the wake of the inefficient and ineffective government of a democracy. When the time came to it when counted as he finally got the opportunity to pursue a certificate, becoming a mechanic as he picked up a few trades along the way. His entry marked into joining the Schutzstaffel, joining the 2nd Panzer Division in 1939. Finding his first combat in the Invasion of Poland, where the enthusiastic division rushed into combat where they bit more than they can chew. It left Alfred somewhat sour at the competence of the commander in charge of their division instead of actually blaming himself and his unit for their over enthusiasm and suicidal disregard of their own well being. That later in the Campaign in the West, through Paris they marched. Having fought stiffly as the numbers whittled from incoming fire, but it was nothing compared to one Hellish battle that made mechanized warfare quite difficult in an urbanized center, so narrow and filled with angry Partisans from their besieged city.

It was Moscow, where explosions rung out all around, where an equal battle by a desperate foe took place. They weren't keen on surrendering like the other forces he fought, and they had the teeth to back it up. Fighting in the cities and being whittled down, only for the vast bulk of the Russian army to come and smash their Communist fist through the Panzer's rear. Explosions thundered all across, bodies and gore rained as Alfred snapped in that battle, losing focus as he later wondered off in a trance. Ignored and treated like a doll as he was shoved around by fellow Germans trying to hold off the Soviet advance.

He didn't know what to make of the chaos, all his indoctrination did not prepare him for what delusions he had broken. The masquerade was revealed. Alfred saw something of silver as he wandered away, a locket. Falling to his knees as he just stared, coping with all this chaos, left unattended within the shed in shambles, only to see a grizzled old man with a beard of fine white, and orange that showed alcohol. He looked like he was far wearier than he should be, but then again Germany was invading his country. The old man looked surprise, seeing a random German soldier apparently taking his prized locket -- one that contained an old sepia picture reminiscent of the 1800's. In his range, the old man soon grew, his chest apparently scarred by the same shape as the oval shaped locket Alfred had. As if it were sizzling there for a long time, a self loathing punishment bestowed for whatever guilt he had, a self flagellation of sorts common to his kind. Repentance somehow ruined by the "filthy" hands of a Kraut that dares defile his prized locket. Fur soon grew on the old man, his face contorted into a snout, and his eyes became predatory. He was a legend before Alfred; a werewolf.

That werewolf let it's jaws loose, in wrathful howl lunged towards Alfred. He was easily picked up as if a shark swept astray a barracuda, feeling his spine being bitten down and tooth sagging towards his stomach flesh. He had dropped his heavier weapon, left with only the silver locket as blood gushed from him, feeling color draining. Desperate for survival, with the only thing left to do, he decided to go out dying. Stabbing the eye of the beast as the soft jelly ruptured from the pressure. It pierced it as it slid within the beast's skull, with Alfred let loose as he rolled about to the ground, shivering and shaking in pain as he was inches from death, feeling some primal nature festering within him as he almost passed the threshold between what gives him life and death. Hugged by a Valkyrie in his vision, a light at the end as he closed his eyes to rest... Lifted up by a pair of hands and dragged away by what seems to be a big red cross surrounded by the background of a white circle on an armband and hauled away, what glimpse of a vision of a dead old man laying naked, and blood dribbling from his teeth. Only to wake up later in the field hospital, reports say he was apparently bitten by an attack dog of a lonely old man they thought, which was an unusual case to them. He couldn't feel his legs move which left him wondering what was true, what he felt in the shed felt real, and he didn't even explain anything, it was only a presumption on part of the doctors.

Recipient of many kinds of Knight's Cross, among other medals of valor, courage, and words that made war seem like an honorable thing, he mulled over these. How useful those medals were, if it was worth being paralyzed for. To never walk on his two feet ever again. Time spent in the hospital that he was sent back into the friendly lines of Poland gave him time to think about things, become philosophical, and consider where his position in the totem pole of humanity he was. He fondled those thoughts and soon realized, perhaps he shouldn't care about it at this point, beginning to laugh as he recounted the glories of war, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the thrill of fixing tank treads whilst under fire from anti-tank armaments, the euphoria of stabbing a filthy Soviet peasant in the face as he desperately tries to do the same. This wasn't his first time, no. The Russians... they were a wonderful breed of people. The worst of them brought out the best in Alfred. He soon realize, why be so serious? Giving out a rave of a man finding new love in battles that he could no longer take part of, only remember it.

Days and nights went by, as a full moon dawned, he blacked out. Gaining senses with him bloodied, standing on his two legs, hands and mouth caked in blood and his senses far more peeled. The smell of copper was in the air, his eyes darted left and right to see the strewn gore and limbs of the hospital staff as he was left to wonder what had happened, and more importantly if it was real or not. He knew he couldn't stay in the hospital, and ran off into the rising sunlight, sporadically thinking just what happened in that time, why he was covered in blood, and more importantly why his wounds were not there and that he was actually RUNNING on his two legs, far faster than a human being should, darting past trees as they were like a blur...

When the sun fully graced the skies, Alfred resolved to turn himself in as he has just committed treason. He was given no courtesy as the Gestapo were met by the bloodied Schutzstaffel soldier. He was thrown in a holding cell with little resistance on his part, as he was deemed a psychopath to execute at the earliest opportunity. Further days were spent mulling over further facts as he was prepared to face the consequences, not only for having been too out of sorts to actually partake effectively against the tide of Red Communist horde, but also because of having killed his OWN countrymen. At least by the power of lead, he'd be absolved.

In the day of his execution... he was reported shot, and cremated.

Or so the reports say. In fact, he was pulled out by an interesting party whom noted a questionable set of traits to which they recognized. A new task force formed, with Alfred being told, he was chosen in it. Not as a participant of an experiment, but because tests upon his blood, traits of savagery and what testimony he gave to the doctors dismissed as delusions of a mind struck by shell shock made it back to these men. He was a werewolf, rare in number and in breed, that they theorized perhaps his near death was the aspect of it, but it is NEVER KNOWN why. The circumstances behind it were mysterious as the attempts to do blood transfusions, grafting, and even organ transplant ended in rejection and failure on their test subjects. He would be submitted as a test subject to further the Reich's legacy, but more importantly he'd be absolved of all crimes, start a new existence, to be given further training, develop his potential further AND to join the top secret paramilitary organization; Millennium.

For Alfred, it was not a choice. He knew what his answer would be, and it is yes.

He stayed with Millennium, being a guinea pig for them in ways, being prodded, and subject to painful experiments but it is all for their better capacity to wage war against the Allied powers. Giving further time to actually tame his lycanthropy as well as enhance what he knew from a cub to a youngling which his training and regimen persisted even to 2004. Sadly it was all to come for naught as the research ended up destroyed by an attack on the main facility by Hellsing forces, particularly two figures of repute that have singlehandedly dismantled the entire place, that and the war in 1945 spelled defeat for Germany. Not for Millennium, alongside his cohorts, he left on the Deus Ex Machina, where war once again will come in time, and he has his part to play. Testing may have been finished, but he certainly wasn't. Dead yet not dead. Sane yet insane. Pious yet impious. Treading a fine line between them as he would spend those decades as he picked up on linguistics as well as some training on further mechanical works pertaining to modifications. Decades would be quite a long time to learn and study, till the glorious Ragnarok appears.

RP sample: He smoked his cigarette as the Winter of Russia swept over the building, some snow sneaking in, invading his space. The men inside were Germans, covered in lumpy and fat clothes that warmed them up, bristling by the fire in the metal box. Warming their hands as Alfred continued to let the death stick comfy him. It was a very brief respite from the long battle outside in Moscow, having killed a family in front of a Partisan to demoralize him. Only it served to enrage the man and swear vengeance and haunting from the afterlife. He was shot in the face and unceremoniously dumped in a ditch.  Tanks counted for nothing in these streets anyways, tight fitting quarters where an anti-tank grenade can easily be dropped overhead, as much as a Molotov cocktail lobbed through an unsuspecting tank commander's head. For practical reasons, he was here as an infantry man and to maintain repairs through whatever equipment needed, but decided to separate for a while to huddle up around the fire. They were socializing clearly.

"Peh, fucking cold. Only vermin can thrive here." Remarks Alfred in contempt, sniffing up the mucus wet in his nose.

"Explains why they are so hard to root out. This is a whole den of rats... cold and unforgiving. They should've just shelled this entire city and be done with it. Nothing worth holding here but death for our troops with little to gain..." The Frankenfurter comments, brushing his hands over the pooled flames.

"Watch what you say of the Fatherland, lest I have you shot for insubordination. Our countrymen, MY comrades, too many of them died, and I intend to honor their memory by winning this battle no matter what costs it take. Either you serve in the frontline or on the firing line... it makes no difference to me." Alfred replies in his hateful venom, before turning away.

The Wehrmacht soldiers scoffed and kept their talks to whispers, at least not talking about defeatists sentiments anymore. Just the general of how they missed their home, how warm it is, and particularly one that had to do with strudel and sauerkrauts.

Murmurs and talks continued, about families from Dresdin, Berlin and Frankfurt continued, exchanging talks between one another. So relaxed in spite of the pitched execution and the battle before that. They tried to console themselves by remaining off guard completely, forget the fact they were in hostile territory, live in a moment of bliss. The Wehrmacht were weak willed fools. Alfred wasn't in the Wehrmacht. The whole time he clutched his MP-40, ready to unload a full ammo on the first thing not German that comes into his view. Only such an illusion of safety was shattered, and Alfred was proven right with the skull of Frank, the soldier who spoke of Berlin, his hometown, being sprayed across the ground, putting out the fire as a powerful rifle shot bore a hole through his cranium. His brain matter oozing out as quickly the soldiers desperately went for cover, apart their guns. Alfred peeked out, looking at the place of the shot, the general location. He couldn't make out which building was where the shot originated, but he didn't have to. A flash flickered on a scope, followed by a muzzle flash as he pulled back. He was too late. He got hit. Just not wounded. His helmet was bent, grazed in fact and given a nice groove. A trophy he'll have to carry of having a close call with death herself, as Alfred eyed something far better than his MP-40, something which he could not hope to shoot the sniper with. Kar98k, scoped.

"Pass the weapon!" Beckons Alfred, the Wehrmacht soldier, without even consideration to the gun, to use it, gave the responsibility of slaying the enemy to Alfred. Alfred didn't really have time to care about circumstances or cowardice right now as time took it's toll. Once again he scouted the sniper, and once again he had a close encounter with death. Only this time nearer to his throat -- his scarf ripped and so did the enemy's throat as he was repaid in kind. The Kar98k's muzzle smoked, as Alfred sighed in relief. Sinking down from the window as once again, Moscow proved to be the rat's nest. Cornered and desperate, lashing out at every opportunity it got. He has got to move away from the window anyways, maybe got somewhere with perfect concealment...

SANCTIFIED AND DONE WITH THIS.

Hence the bump. Note dat bump.

Before I review, you have to have a sample as this character. You need a new one every time.

Posted it up, enjoy fluffy fluff.

Millenium could use people.

APPROVALS: 02

DISAPPROVALS: 00

Alfred von der Marwitz wrote:

Name: Anonymously famously known as Alfred von der Marwitz. Lost your witz over that eh?

Age: Officially, 107 years old, biologically in his 30's.

Gender: He is male, manly man, testosterone filled, and a snake hater. Just a man.

This is all stuff.

Longname wrote:

Physical appearance: Creatively, he is 6'3" feet tall, that's in feet, note that different scale. Eye color is hazel, and his eyes are scornful in spite of the angelic face he has been blessed with. One often remarks that he is that nice kid who'd grow up to be a doctor or maybe a dentist, only to be in disbelief he is actually a blood sucking murderous maniac whose idea of past time is eating babies. Anyways, he has an angelic face, often laden with an arrogant smile, and a demeanor that he is not so above getting his hands dirty. His hair is slicked back, and blonde. His skin is pinkish, and his teeth is white. Very hygienically inclined, or maybe just germ free. Also very pointy and sharp, don't let him nibble you. You'll regret it. His build is athletic and quite well toned, with some bulk to go with it. He weighs probably 180 pounds, has to do with his diet of blood. Fatties, take note of that. His hands are spidery, yet leathery when feeling the tips of his hands. A hard work of blister had perhaps rendered his fingers rough to the touch that you'd know he has been through warfare. Not recommended to be caressed, unless one likes to have their face be felt by sand-paper-like hands. Also Equestrian, as the term gets passed around. Hair feels like fur though. Golden fur, oddly enough.

Nonetheless, he is Caucasian, and his face is often a cheerful sort. It is soft, and lacks the malevolent glee other Millennium soldiers have, but make no mistake, he is a killer. His innocent smile? Just the satisfaction and child-like glee one gets from a day well spent committing atrocities as much as laughing at a joke. Overall, he is pale like the rest of Millennium soldiers, but has more complexion in him as he is damned like them, but of a different affliction.

Sounds like a guy.

Penis wrote:

Clothing of choice: When he doesn't wear anything, he tends to be naked. When he wears something, he can wear his uniform. Fitting him quite well as he has a G-string worn, for comfort reason on his pasty cold ass, a black shirt with his rank designated on his collar, a side cap sometimes when he has to wear a hat, a double breasted jacket that he wears over his uniform shirt, a pair of black gloves, a pair of trousers with suspenders hanging from underneath the shirt, and jackboots that reaches up almost to his knee. The reason why he wears those would be a result of the messy work he tends to do, and black doesn't easily show pigmentation accrued as a result of discoloration from maintenance, oil, as well as soot that he has grown accustomed to. It shows that he is in fact a member of the Panzer-pionier-bataillon, and more importantly, the cuffs he has and the insignia, from the 2nd SS Panzer Division Das Reich. He tends to have pockets on his double breasted jacket, as well as a tactical webbing underneath on his shirt to carry extra ammunition and other assortment if need be.

Carries a number of medals that he doesn't wear when on duty, all earned in the line of fire. Including the Knight's Cross among others for distinguished service in the battlefield.

Modified his clothes to be stretchy. Helps in some occasions best left unmentioned.

Sounds like a clothes.

Eat wrote:

Weaponry of choice:

MG 42: The MG 42 has a proven record of reliability, durability, simplicity, and ease of operation, but is most notable for its ability to produce a high volume of suppressive fire. The MG 42 had one of the highest average rates of fire of any single-barreled man-portable machine gun: between 1,200 and 1,500 rpm, which results in a distinctive muzzle report.

Additionally, Alfred can use it as if it were a normal assault rifle, with little problems with the recoil, firing it quite accurately on the go thanks to his unnatural condition. He often carries two ammo boxes/ammunition belt that are weighing on his belt from left to right, both have 250 rounds and have disintegrating links. Freudian Overdrive go!


Model 24 Stielhandgranate: he stick grenade was introduced in 1915 and the design developed throughout World War I. A friction igniter was used; this method was uncommon in other countries but widely used for German grenades.

A pull cord ran down the hollow handle from the detonator within the explosive head, terminating in a porcelain ball held in place by a detachable base closing cap. To use the grenade, the base cap was unscrewed, permitting the ball and cord to fall out. Pulling the cord dragged a roughened steel rod through the igniter causing it to flare-up and start the five-second fuse burning. This allowed the grenade to be hung from fences to prevent them from being climbed; any disturbance to the dangling grenade would cause it to fall and ignite the fuse. The first stick grenades featured a permanently revealed pull cord which came out from the handle near the bottom (rather than tucked inside the removable screw-capped base).

He carries about five of them, around his belt, with the standard safety caps on which he can remove easily to fling. It is filled with more potent explosives to inflict more suffering and also kill more people, as per Alfred's tastes. Then again, these ARE grenades from Millennium, which is filled with more explosive power than normal, and are shown to have very messy effects.


.45 ACP caliber Luger Serial #2: Arguably a coveted pistol around the world, originally there were two serials of this model produced, with the first one phased out in favor of the second. Being made for the powerful .45 caliber, as an unknown amount of it is produced. Lingering evidence also shows that a fifth serial was found in the Third Reich itself, with some models of the 2nd Serial kept in tow there. Theorized to have been given to high ranking officers, and rarely to distinguished soldiers. Alfred happens to be one of those few given this pistol, which he keeps as a favored sidearm, keeping about 7 magazines on his mag pouches whilst holstering it in the holster on his webbing. It can be pulled out for a quick draw,and has been given hollow point when it was developed for the .45 ACP round. It was given hollow point in mind for suffering and tearing apart the interiors of the victim. He would recommend other calibers, but is stuck with the .45 much to his chagrin.


Adjustable Spanner, Monkey Wrench, Wire Cutter: Both of which are placed into a special pouch, they are used for mechanical work that Alfred finds himself in. Be it for repair, or sabotage, Alfred can comply with such conditions and even modify some equipment on the go, so long as he has the materials at hand to do it.

Don't copy weapon descriptions. Already got on the new kid for that. Last one has an awful lot of ammunition, too.

Kick wrote:

Race: Lycanthrope, Youngling.

We'll see about that.

Heart wrote:

Abilities: Aluminum-like skin, great weakness to blessed and silver weaponry (fatal), regeneration (takes up to 15 posts max to regenerate major wound damage such as limb loss), agelessness, medium super strength, agility, stamina, reflexes, durability and senses, ability to transform into a Lycanthrope (simply a humanoid wolf form), the ability to transform back into a human with some trouble; it is much easier to transform back and forth from the wolf from and humanoid form with the full moon.

Additionally, Alfred has mechanical expertise to repair typically firearms, modify them, and repair tanks as well as operate radios. Of course, a mechanic without his tools is as useful as a swordsman without his weapon, they would not be worthy of that title, which is why he carries around his tools. Given his role, he is often used for either repairs, or recon. Also can make use explosives and sap as a spy. Engineers better beware.

As per Millennium forces, he is well trained and quite competent, with the added experience of having practical hand to hand combat as he had one too many encounters. Having made use of his shovel, all the way to his hands to kill the enemy that tries to do the same thing. Having seen the bloodiest battles and lived to tell the tale as part of the infamous 2nd SS Panzer Division, it can attest that he knows his stuff when it comes to combat, from a tactical point of view to a personal point of view. Henceforth should it need be, he can act as a squad leader or even as a tank commander should it come to that.

And finally, what lays as unique within Alfred would be advanced kinesthesia, he is quite precise and dexterous when need be, and as such, ideal for quick mechanical works, or even on the field where his agility is far more honed.

You must not watch One Piece.

Zoro wrote:

Organization: Millennium the Nazi organization that is Nazi.

Your mother.

Lick wrote:

Personality: Alfred von der Marwitz wasn't made a sadist, he was molded into it later in life. Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others; schadenfreude. That earlier on in the epoch of his life, he was otherwise an optimistic person whom held high aspirations and an idealized view of the world, seeing it from a romantic point of view instead of the realistic. The German economy was getting back up, a career prospect awaited him, and he even considered joining the army for prestige. There was no way they could lose, and the battlefield is perhaps quite valorous where he could prove his might. Boy was he wrong, where his expectations fell flat and kicked him right in the face. It was bloody, death was abundant, and despite what earlier successes he had, that later he would see his own unit whom he called comrade get torn to shreds. The allies were despicable to him, having taken away fathers, brothers and sons. Everyone had a family he knew, and they made promises to return, and yet they just died. Yet why was he alive? A man of no family? Why was he left in his lonesome, often times counting himself among the lucky to live to fight another day? Often he pondered these questions, which would reveal he can be philosophically inclined.

He became cynical as a result, and sardonic. Coping with these sudden violence often takes different effects, for Alfred, he started seeing the world as one big comedy, and him in the lead role of it. He started to see it all as silly, and even started taking amusement in it. Why the fuss anyways? He is destined to die, adopting a fatalistic point of view, but fuck, he ain't going to go down dying that easily. He'll make his death worth it. That perhaps he can go to Valhalla instead of Hel. He did not want to die an inglorious death, in fact, if he could help it, he would maintain his attitude to fight another day. A dead man is a useless man in the field of battle, only to be used as cadaver, or to rot in the burial ground. He became hopeful as well as filled with sadistic glee. The battlefield turned from Hell to a place of respite. Kill the people that would kill you, and make them rot. To experience the crescendo of war firsthand, perhaps even be amputated in the process and stab a Yank in the face with a sharp bone protruding from the wound.

Whatever the case, Alfred is quite jovial in his interactions, albeit with some sardonic outlook of things, dour if anything. He rarely seems to consider his morality to be anything but might makes right, and strength can manifest itself in any ways possible, it doesn't have to just come from physical prowess, it can come to the cerebral circuit in the head -- the brain. To consider everything, and even sometimes border lines of paranoia with some compulsive consideration to all factors.

A curse perhaps that comes from having higher intelligence, or perhaps developed later in life? Which brings unto the next point, Alfred has cunning tampered by knowledge and intellect. Using his superior grammar and skills (see what I did there?), he would kill a person by shooting them in the face. Of course, being intelligent does NOT necessarily mean in doing something smart, just that being more competent when it counts or comes to it. This is just the personality model Alfred follows, because he knows no others. Indoctrination made him a killing machine, and experience insightful. He is a Millennium soldier, and he is worth a thousand soldiers, as all others are. Millennium forces range around a thousand, henceforth they are worth a million. It makes him proud to know this, as his morale is quite high to perform with diligence and without fail, without sacrificing the prospect reality will lurk it's ugly face and stick itself up the rectum.

Often found smiling, very cheerful and happy. Life's been far simpler and nicer that way. Don't sweat the petty things, but don't pet the sweaty things, or so he likes to quote. Also avid Nietszschian.

So fucking long.

"You merely adopted the darkness. I was born in it, molded by it. I did not see the light until I was already a man."

Bane wrote:

Rank: Hauptscharführer/Chief Squad Leader.

I bet you are.

Poke wrote:

Biography: Born in Dusseldorf, with an average family that raised him in the standards at the time of German families -- with strict discipline but also some pride and emphasis on patriarchies, Alfred was given a view of the world through the colored lens of nationalism. Germany was united, Germany was an Empire, henceforth Germany is good for everyone, for how can people contest the prosperity brought from the German Empire? But as a young lad, he didn't know any better from what atmosphere brewed. The Great War beckoned around as he quietly finished his education, and tended to his life as normal people at the time tended to do. Mostly preparing for a career, with him considering one in the military as his brother was among them.

The streets were often filled with marching troops met with the adoring cheer of citizens that were waving them off, those that will defend the Fatherland in the name of the Kaiser. Maintain such prosperity as deceitful Serbia had sent their Black Hand assassin to kill the Archduke of Austria. Those villains made everything worse, that single man that pulled the trigger on the Austrian, having blown up the powder keg of the Balkans. But, the soldiers were off to fix that, to help their Austro-Hungarian friends. His brother was among the soldiers that went off, having had an influence on him from what brief interactions they had, Alfred was impressionable enough to want to grow up into a soldier like his brother one day and defend the Fatherland.

But years went by, as the war dragged on. For those four years, at first things were alright, he had continued his education, and the meals got less, but he barely noticed. As time dragged on gradually, war was felt back at the Fatherland, and he starved. He soon developed anger, being ticked off that why was a prosperous Germany starving? In fact, WHY was his food getting less and less? Also why was his time spent in class less? And more importantly, WHY DID GERMANY REMOVE THE RESTRICTIONS ON MARRIAGE AGE? It dawned to him much to his horror, that they were running out of people, and Germany was desperate for soldiers. BIG WHOOP. So anyways, soon enough, fighting lingered closer to the homeland as treacherous Yanks joined the fray after those Russian cowards ran off, or so in Alfred's head went on. Perhaps now that they can concentrate on one front, that they can actually focus on more important matters like food, instead of the Ersatz cheap stuff Alfred was being fed. On a personal level, he was feeling the suffering and agony of the nation, because as a whole, everyone lingered with hunger and scarcity of resources, whilst the brave men fought on with territories that are in a stalemate. He was hopeful that they would succeed and impose a measure of reparations demanded of those hostile Allies. He was wrong. The Central Powers lost, as more and more nations deserted them, that Germany was eventually forced to sign the Versailles Treaty, which effectively destroyed the Empire. It crippled Germany, it made it nothing more than a Republic.

It was agonizing humiliation, that much they endured at home all amounted to nothing, the agonies ended with Germany paying out of its own life blood just to repay the allies for a war they encouraged and fostered. His brother may have survived, but he came back pessimistic. He told Alfred after him somewhat enthusiastically asking him as to how the battlefields were in his youthful enthusiasm, he was told that there was nothing pretty about it, and he had too many dead to even consider it anywhere glorious. The arrogance of youth blinded Alfred as he thought it being a defeatist talk. As of this point though, starvation was starting to romp up as the remnants of the Empire suffered. Alfred was sour about this whole affair, and used this time to scrounge up for food. Picking up theft as he took from shops whilst there was sometimes the occasional raids or two from the hungry populace who could not even afford to pay for bread, with Reichmarks taking such a huge hit of inflation, that it would take fat wads of them in stacks carried on a plow just to pay off for some loaf of bread. He did not want that, and he did not think he deserved that fate, nobody did, but it was a gritty life. It somewhat dirtied his satin silky view of the world, but he was nowhere a cynic yet. It went on for a while as he hasn't run into trouble, only finding a few occasions in which his fleet footing has saved him from perhaps potentially harmful punishment incurred by a wrathful businessman or two.

As the Nazi party rose up through a meteoric popularity, further cemented in approval from the people under their charismatic leader as many acts of questionable and dubious nature was done by the party, has created an opportunity. Making and sowing the the economy once again as everyone had a role in society, instead of the chaotic ruins left in the wake of the inefficient and ineffective government of a democracy. When the time came to it when counted as he finally got the opportunity to pursue a certificate, becoming a mechanic as he picked up a few trades along the way. His entry marked into joining the Schutzstaffel, joining the 2nd Panzer Division in 1939. Finding his first combat in the Invasion of Poland, where the enthusiastic division rushed into combat where they bit more than they can chew. It left Alfred somewhat sour at the competence of the commander in charge of their division instead of actually blaming himself and his unit for their over enthusiasm and suicidal disregard of their own well being. That later in the Campaign in the West, through Paris they marched. Having fought stiffly as the numbers whittled from incoming fire, but it was nothing compared to one Hellish battle that made mechanized warfare quite difficult in an urbanized center, so narrow and filled with angry Partisans from their besieged city.

It was Moscow, where explosions rung out all around, where an equal battle by a desperate foe took place. They weren't keen on surrendering like the other forces he fought, and they had the teeth to back it up. Fighting in the cities and being whittled down, only for the vast bulk of the Russian army to come and smash their Communist fist through the Panzer's rear. Explosions thundered all across, bodies and gore rained as Alfred snapped in that battle, losing focus as he later wondered off in a trance. Ignored and treated like a doll as he was shoved around by fellow Germans trying to hold off the Soviet advance.

He didn't know what to make of the chaos, all his indoctrination did not prepare him for what delusions he had broken. The masquerade was revealed. Alfred saw something of silver as he wandered away, a locket. Falling to his knees as he just stared, coping with all this chaos, left unattended within the shed in shambles, only to see a grizzled old man with a beard of fine white, and orange that showed alcohol. He looked like he was far wearier than he should be, but then again Germany was invading his country. The old man looked surprise, seeing a random German soldier apparently taking his prized locket -- one that contained an old sepia picture reminiscent of the 1800's. In his range, the old man soon grew, his chest apparently scarred by the same shape as the oval shaped locket Alfred had. As if it were sizzling there for a long time, a self loathing punishment bestowed for whatever guilt he had, a self flagellation of sorts common to his kind. Repentance somehow ruined by the "filthy" hands of a Kraut that dares defile his prized locket. Fur soon grew on the old man, his face contorted into a snout, and his eyes became predatory. He was a legend before Alfred; a werewolf.

That werewolf let it's jaws loose, in wrathful howl lunged towards Alfred. He was easily picked up as if a shark swept astray a barracuda, feeling his spine being bitten down and tooth sagging towards his stomach flesh. He had dropped his heavier weapon, left with only the silver locket as blood gushed from him, feeling color draining. Desperate for survival, with the only thing left to do, he decided to go out dying. Stabbing the eye of the beast as the soft jelly ruptured from the pressure. It pierced it as it slid within the beast's skull, with Alfred let loose as he rolled about to the ground, shivering and shaking in pain as he was inches from death, feeling some primal nature festering within him as he almost passed the threshold between what gives him life and death. Hugged by a Valkyrie in his vision, a light at the end as he closed his eyes to rest... Lifted up by a pair of hands and dragged away by what seems to be a big red cross surrounded by the background of a white circle on an armband and hauled away, what glimpse of a vision of a dead old man laying naked, and blood dribbling from his teeth. Only to wake up later in the field hospital, reports say he was apparently bitten by an attack dog of a lonely old man they thought, which was an unusual case to them. He couldn't feel his legs move which left him wondering what was true, what he felt in the shed felt real, and he didn't even explain anything, it was only a presumption on part of the doctors.

Recipient of many kinds of Knight's Cross, among other medals of valor, courage, and words that made war seem like an honorable thing, he mulled over these. How useful those medals were, if it was worth being paralyzed for. To never walk on his two feet ever again. Time spent in the hospital that he was sent back into the friendly lines of Poland gave him time to think about things, become philosophical, and consider where his position in the totem pole of humanity he was. He fondled those thoughts and soon realized, perhaps he shouldn't care about it at this point, beginning to laugh as he recounted the glories of war, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the thrill of fixing tank treads whilst under fire from anti-tank armaments, the euphoria of stabbing a filthy Soviet peasant in the face as he desperately tries to do the same. This wasn't his first time, no. The Russians... they were a wonderful breed of people. The worst of them brought out the best in Alfred. He soon realize, why be so serious? Giving out a rave of a man finding new love in battles that he could no longer take part of, only remember it.

Days and nights went by, as a full moon dawned, he blacked out. Gaining senses with him bloodied, standing on his two legs, hands and mouth caked in blood and his senses far more peeled. The smell of copper was in the air, his eyes darted left and right to see the strewn gore and limbs of the hospital staff as he was left to wonder what had happened, and more importantly if it was real or not. He knew he couldn't stay in the hospital, and ran off into the rising sunlight, sporadically thinking just what happened in that time, why he was covered in blood, and more importantly why his wounds were not there and that he was actually RUNNING on his two legs, far faster than a human being should, darting past trees as they were like a blur...

When the sun fully graced the skies, Alfred resolved to turn himself in as he has just committed treason. He was given no courtesy as the Gestapo were met by the bloodied Schutzstaffel soldier. He was thrown in a holding cell with little resistance on his part, as he was deemed a psychopath to execute at the earliest opportunity. Further days were spent mulling over further facts as he was prepared to face the consequences, not only for having been too out of sorts to actually partake effectively against the tide of Red Communist horde, but also because of having killed his OWN countrymen. At least by the power of lead, he'd be absolved.

In the day of his execution... he was reported shot, and cremated.

Or so the reports say. In fact, he was pulled out by an interesting party whom noted a questionable set of traits to which they recognized. A new task force formed, with Alfred being told, he was chosen in it. Not as a participant of an experiment, but because tests upon his blood, traits of savagery and what testimony he gave to the doctors dismissed as delusions of a mind struck by shell shock made it back to these men. He was a werewolf, rare in number and in breed, that they theorized perhaps his near death was the aspect of it, but it is NEVER KNOWN why. The circumstances behind it were mysterious as the attempts to do blood transfusions, grafting, and even organ transplant ended in rejection and failure on their test subjects. He would be submitted as a test subject to further the Reich's legacy, but more importantly he'd be absolved of all crimes, start a new existence, to be given further training, develop his potential further AND to join the top secret paramilitary organization; Millennium.

For Alfred, it was not a choice. He knew what his answer would be, and it is yes.

He stayed with Millennium, being a guinea pig for them in ways, being prodded, and subject to painful experiments but it is all for their better capacity to wage war against the Allied powers. Giving further time to actually tame his lycanthropy as well as enhance what he knew from a cub to a youngling which his training and regimen persisted even to 2004. Sadly it was all to come for naught as the research ended up destroyed by an attack on the main facility by Hellsing forces, particularly two figures of repute that have singlehandedly dismantled the entire place, that and the war in 1945 spelled defeat for Germany. Not for Millennium, alongside his cohorts, he left on the Deus Ex Machina, where war once again will come in time, and he has his part to play. Testing may have been finished, but he certainly wasn't. Dead yet not dead. Sane yet insane. Pious yet impious. Treading a fine line between them as he would spend those decades as he picked up on linguistics as well as some training on further mechanical works pertaining to modifications. Decades would be quite a long time to learn and study, till the glorious Ragnarok appears.

Skimmed parts of this, so I wasn't as thorough as usual. Short on time, though, and I'd kept putting this off for various reasons. I trust this to be in the acceptable condition that I think it is.

Approvals: 3
Disapprovals: 0

I've approved it and everything with the idea that you'll edit the weapons. I want this to happen soon.