|
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Maybe
scarlet-edged feathers of songbirds
mean more than the nature of
flight, bring more to mind than theories of aerodynamic lift.
This whim you call
freedom
might someday be conjured in the image of wings
frozen mid-motion, captured
for a moment (forever) between the sun and the moon.
Dearest Citizens:
The time has come yet again—the annual gala is nearly upon us! The date has been set for the first of the coming month, and preparations are already well underway. Celebrations will begin at the main courtyard with the announcement of this year's winner for the Outstanding Citizen Award at five, and will move into the Magister's villa come nightfall. Food will be provided.
Be sure to clear your schedules! Everyone is invited to participate in the festivities, so we expect to see you all there. Please dress appropriately.
Thank you!
The Community
Profile template by Revolution Guild.

Basic Information
Name: Erik Solberg
Gender: Male
Age: 28
DOB: February 5th
Height: 6'0"
Weight: Average
Hair: Black
Eyes: Gold
Rank: ---
Memo and Important Notes
Role: Eyes and ears of the Revolution.
Special Talent(s): Close-range combat situations; management and restraint of uncooperative prisoners (not really a glowing resume for the Revolution, but hey).
Occupation: Sweeper—not so much a custodial job as it is an elite law enforcement troop for the Community. Sweepers possess green stripes on the shoulders of their uniforms, and are often seen patrolling the streets. They generally work independently (though will communicate and work with each other in order to accomplish common goals), and are distinguished from normal law enforcement by their dealings with enemies of the Community.
Sweepers have no familial ties and are recruited based on their ability to form strong and unbreakable loyalties—in this case, dedication to the Community must be established and proven over a number of years. They cannot be bought or reasoned with. Although they are rumored to be mechanical creatures with keen minds but without hearts or souls of their own, Sweepers are simply humans who are loyal only to the Community.
Motives: Personal loyalties.
Physical Description
It would be inaccurate to say that Erik stands out purely on strength of character—he's not ugly, and he thinks he's actually got pretty striking eyes. The truth is, though, that he's not particularly handsome, just kind of average. It makes him a good Sweeper because, despite all appearances, he's disciplined enough to fade into the background; while a Sweeper may be noticed because of his uniform or position, he should never draw attention because of any other reason.
Personality and Demeanor
Cocky and smooth—though he can be perfectly reserved when working under his official capacity as a Sweeper. Erik talks fast and loose, but is slow to trust and always plays close to the chest. However, he can be single-minded and loyal to a fault; he'll stick by you until the end, even if he knows you're in the wrong. His life is strictly compartmentalized: work, social circles, and covert Revolution business. It's the only way he manages, but he's been coping pretty well so far.Brief History
Erik was recruited young—or rather, was never officially recruited at all. As it was, new members of the Revolution were required to take no oaths; after all, honest men did not need them, and dishonest men would disregard them. The screening process was a rigorous one, and the Revolution had safeguards firmly in place. Many members had no direct contact with anyone else in the organization.
Erik's mother raised him as part of the Revolution, until her imprisonment when he was thirteen. To say that he adored his mother would be an understatement, so when the Community came with news of her "disappearance" (involved in treasonous activities, the officials had said, and they doubtlessly had come to see whether her son harbored any of the same dangerous ideas), Erik was prepared. He swallowed past the bile in his mouth—because this is what she'd have wanted, for him to use a bad situation to his advantage, no matter how dirty he felt doing it—and pulled off possibly the nerve-racking performance of his life: no, he did not know what she had been up to; yes, he felt betrayed, she was no family to him, not anymore; did the Community have any plans for him now that he was a minor without a guardian?
He'd set out to make an impression, and he did. The Community kept an eye on him, after that. They would have noted that he gave his loyalty rarely, but once he did there was nothing that could make him turn away. They would have noted that he was, so to speak, not exactly ethical, and didn't particularly care for most people. They noted that he was ambitious, and offered him a position as a Sweeper.
The Community was not wrong. The safest cover was the truth, and the truth was that Erik could easily have been theirs if they had gotten to him before the Revolution did—but they hadn't. He is not theirs. And while Erik may not be entirely loyal to the Revolution's cause, his loyalty belongs to the memory of his mother, and the few other members that he has come to know.
He's nearly asleep when he notices it: a soft, rhythmic tap-tap that sounds more like a leaky pipe than anything else. It's been part of the background noise for long enough that Erik isn't even sure if he has been hearing it all night. Like the ticking of the clock in his bedroom, it's regular—almost familiar. Too easily tuned out.
Oh, Erik thinks, and wakes with a jolt.
The Revolution's signals are subtle by necessity, and also too easily missed. He supposes that he'd rather they be too subtle than too obvious, but months go by without orders from above, and he can't constantly be on the lookout for a message that may or may not come. He sighs and lurches to his feet, taking the time to revive the fire in his fireplace before setting out to hunt for the source of the sound.
Once he knows that he's looking for something, it only takes a minute for Erik to find the small contraption planted in the back of his closet—a popular toy rigged to deliver a steady beat. A small piece of paper is wedged between two pincer-like claws. He yanks at it, yanks again, and finally just pries the claws apart so that he can remove it.
Unexpected bonus: no more noise. Erik smiles to himself and holds the note up to the light.
The date has been set; I trust you will be attending. The Community has been using the gala to flaunt its power for far too long, and it is finally time for us to expand the war against their tyranny. The award will be passed from the previous winner to the new champion at approximately five in the afternoon. Over the years, the medallion has become much more than just a trophy, and now it must go. I want you to take this symbol of theirs, Comrade, and I want you to destroy it. Make them hurt. =)
No one is watching, but Erik tries not to let his smile widen anyway. He tosses the scrap of paper into the fireplace and watches as it curls, blackens and finally disintegrates.
After a moment, he also moves the toy to the windowsill. Not all signals have to be that subtle, after all.
WIP
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