Verner Stiege
| |
| Verner Stiege | |
| Military Information | |
| Callsign: |
Vern |
| Spec: |
Marksmen |
| Physical Description | |
| Gender: |
Male |
| Skin color: |
Fair |
| Height: |
5'9" |
| Weight: |
90kg's |
| Hair Color: |
hazel brown |
| Hair Style: |
shaved |
| Facial Hair: |
n/a |
| Eyes: |
green |
| Biographical Information | |
| Species: |
Human |
| Age: |
29 |
| Languages: |
Basic |
Notable Skills[edit]
- Exception marksmen
Biography[edit]
Description[edit]
Standing at roughly 5'9", Verhner is a thin, lithe man of good stock. He sports a head of thick, hazel hair, that is if he ever let it grow more then a standard millimeter. Verhner keeps in shape, doesn't smoke, occasionally drinks, but only if its something decent and keeps himself clean shaven and well washed. Cleanliness is next to godliness and if there is a bad smell to be had, you can be damned sure its not coming from Steige. This philosophy can be seen within everything he does. From his overly formal speech, to his obsessive politeness to the way he carries about his work.
Hailing from a long line of triple-A class marksmen, Verhner takes great, almost overbearing, pride in his abilities. Since he was old enough to carry a rifle, he's been honing his skills, nay, his art, to near perfection. In doing so, he's developed both an unyielding patience, a steady hand and a keen eye for the hunt. Its joked that he can spot a game hare from a half kilometer away and down it before it takes another breath.
If there's one thing he can't stand, its mediocrity. Whether its in the enemy, in his squad mates or in civilian life. He was raised with the idea that, if something needs doing, then do it well. The thought of doing any less sickens him. He also can't stand to confront his own failings, whether they be in the field or on base. The only reason anyone ever fails is because they didn't try hard enough. An idea that his instructors at the academy found much to their liking.
He is a man of few possessions, though out of the scant few he cherish one above all else, his rifle. An elegant creature with a polished wooden stock, lovingly notched with a dozen and a half kill tally, the rifle was given to him as a gift many years prior to joining the corps and he's cared for it every day since, going as far as to give it a name. Lucy. Its not uncommon for his spotters to hear him whisper softly to it before taking a shot, or find him having small talk with it as he gives it a daily once over, a ritual many have likened to a religious ceremony.
