User blog comment:WanderingSkull/Hell School: The Joke Tourney/@comment-4698460-20181024190048

Name: Marcus Rogers Clark

Background:

"Let's see son, I appeared in the forests of the great state of Pennsylvania one day in what you call 1760. I came strutting out wearing nothing but a three-corner and buckskins while carrying a hammer and a horn of gunpowder. Lucky enough for me, it seemed that some of these 'English' people were having problems with French and Indian people... I threw my lot in this with those English folks, and next thing you know, 3 years have passed and the English emerged Victorious~ Hey, I reckon that's great; so I use my heroism to put my hammer skills to good use crafting metal into useful things. It was only then that they actually asked me for a name... so I came up with Tobias Wright. That's when the stuff got weird... these people started throwing hissy fits about something as miniscule as taxes. I wouldn't know, I've never had to pay any~ *bombastic laughter* So where was I... ah yes, so they started to slowly do this rebellion thing, and I'm very much an establishment type character, but something about these folks drew me to them and I wound up using my skills to help them out. Next thing you know, I wind up in some ragtag army led by this Virginia Planter who thought he could avoid being awesome by being honest and humble. I followed this dude across the frozen Delaware into Trenton and had some fun at Princeton too. Then Saratoga kinda ruined things for me after Arnold left. If he could betray everything who else would? So... I kinda sat by the wayside while I gathered myself, and the next thing you know; it's been four years and my presence is requested for the Yorktown Campaign, and being a man who acts when asked, I get up and start rallying those around me for this final butt-kicking the redcoats needed. I felt a thrill I'd never felt before when I charged up those embankments with a flashing bayonet... yeah, Yorktown didn't end the war, but it ended my piece in it. So, you know 30 years go by and everything's looking up, but then the redcoats come back for round two! *pounds the table*  Dangit I was busy aging and they were busy with Napoleon, but apparently that leaves us too much free time! I arrange my little unit and get myself a good spot as a Captain before setting off for some campaign into Canada. That was a disaster straight from the start, but then again who am I to complain about military disasters? That pretty much ruined everything for me again, so I drifted off into the backwoods somewhere where I lived for about 7 years before dying in 1820. Fun times right? Wrong! I went through my first changing, and changing my friend, Is painful! Not only for me but those around me.

So: new body, new personality... new name! What better than to be name and disturbingly good looking redhead  than Able Matthews huh? I remember it all, so for twenty years I tought myself the tactics set down by the gods Jomini and Clausewitz themselves: logistics, mapping, all of it. When I finally found the courage to put this on display we'd broken out in war with Mexico over that thing we call Texas nowadays... and it was Glorious. I started out as a Lieutenant with absolutely no academy training before hand, made myself a Captain, and then made a fool out of myself in my first decent engagement... yeah, not proud of that. Got myself sidelined for that. However, have no fear. I taught myself again and again, so that when the War Between the States arrived, I was way more competant. 'Lemme at 'em.' I said, but no you make one mistake and people judge you forever. I could have totally won that debacle at Bull Run if I'd been allowed to use my men! Instead, they reward my patriotism and my hard work studying by giving me some unimportant Western Post... lame, am I right? Well, I was somewhere around Kentucky/Tennessee serving under some feller who became President in future (I voted for him... twice, I'll admit that). That's when he went on the offensive! Yes, a chance to show off all my learning and adaption to past mistakes! I got to have my fun plowing along the Cumberland River with that guy, just on going and going until some Confederate fellow surprised all of us with Shiloh. We won... somehow; and then it was mostly a time of shuffling, staring contests, and other things because nobody wanted to fight a full-on pitched battle. Then that October the Confederates attacked again, where myself and my boys played a heavy hand in repulsing that attack! *bombastic laughter* Hoooweee that was a better day. I generally try my best not to get wounded-in-action while in front of people because that would reveal some secrets that people don't need to know... but that happened anyway, and despite promising to secrecy someone went and blathered about it 'cause next thing you know I'm being repeatedly shipped back and forth between there and Washington being questioned and judged because I'm abnormal. I could have been out there doing things at Vicksburg or something but instead I was stuck in a bunch of superstition and bureaucracy. In the end, after so much paperwork, promises, Bible things... I learned that man from before had been transferred to overall command. So, if they wouldn't give me a battle command, I'd ask for at least ask for a place on that man's staff. They gave it to me, and made me a Brevet Major too. It wouldn't be a very high-ranking position, but I would be able to offer my input every once in a while. Yeah, it was a good life. I gave the suggestion of tunneling beneath beneath the lines with explosives during that debacle at the Crater. I have no doubts that I wouldn't handled it better than that Burnside fellow, but I wasn't there so I guess I can't really judge him. During the Campaigns in the Shenandoah Region I was wholeheartedly in favor of Scorched Earth. The sooner they gave up the sooner we could start fixing things. It isn't exactly humane but it's war for a reason... Anyway I found myself at Appomatox Courthouse when the war ended, if you look closely at some painted interpretations of it you may find me in them, I dunno. I didn't exactly stick out. *there's a pause as he sips from something and coughs* Yeah, I did mostly administrative duties after that. I had quite the following in Washington and the Military. After all, by all means I should have been the perfect combatant: possibly immortal, a decent shot, and occasionally intelligent. The only problem was that I was a secret... I was something they couldn't afford to lose. Heck, I was a national secret until at least the 1870s. It was then revealed there were others like me. I knew this of course, but why tell them? It was during this time where I used some political oomph to get myself a secondary combat position as a lowly garrison commander with a Colonelcy to my name. All fine and dandy until I underestimated the enemy I was ordered to route out. The Cav got surrounded and destroyed, but I managed to get most of my garrison away from it all while perishing in the process. Not exactly Medal of Honor material, but maybe a low-budget action flick or something.

So Yeah, new body, new personality, new name: Travis Williams. Classy right? Well, let me tell you... I don't know if it was something with the environment at the time, but Williams, aka me, was kind of a psychopath. My first act of psychopathy was to petition the government (who by now knew about that bodily process called changing) to get myself transferred over to the blue waters of the navy. Fun times, became a Navy Captain, got my own cruiser. Probably would have enjoyed it way too much if it turned out to be like those foreign cartoons where the ship turns into a living female. *bombastic laughter* Yeah, the ship was good, crew was decent at their jobs; I got to sail around and look cool, make an impression on the world that America was back in the game! We are no longer attacking each other and have moved on to gazing at the outside world! It was honestly kinda boring though, until the Spanish blew up that ship in Havana harbor... okay, I guess I can't say the Spanish did it. We don't actually know that, the newspapers just wanted a reason to start reporting on a war again and the McKinley administration bit. So, I was hitched up with Admiral Dewey in the Pacific and we all went and demolished the fleet in the Philippines. That war ended quickly, I guess because we were all tired, but I wound up hanging around the Philippines with absolutely no regrets about the war, then they rose up because we'd basically replaced Imperialism with Imperialism and they weren't too keen about that. A couple of land-aimed broadsides later and I think I fixed it, but I was relieved of that command afterwards for my actions. Needless to say, that didn't bode well with the amount of sanity I had when I was Travis, and it was roughly 1903 when that finally gave in... I learned later they'd actually been planning on offering me command of one of the new St. Louis class armored cruisers, but by the time I learned I was different and didn't care about the navy.

Who did I change into there? Ohoho! You are looking at him son! This beautiful human in front of you... okay, I'm not so beautiful now, but I was back then. I was brown-haired and uh... thinner. I transferred back to Army Command, got myself made a Brigadier mostly by stressing my long time of service to this fair nation, and in the end I think they gave it to me just to get rid of me. Hey, I'll take it. They even gave me my own brigade just so I'd leave them alone, at least that's how I took it anyway. It was a grand time, and it was there that I met the woman who would be my wife. Her name was Constance and she was as stubborn as they come. I however, developed cold feet for the first time in my existence and didn't actually tell her how I felt until the Great War yanked me away on a chain. The government gave me a third chance at a combat posting underneath Pershing and the AEF, and my brigade and I played some heavy hand in breaking the Germans in the Meuse-Argonne, and honestly there isn't a different group of guys I'd rather have been with. That was where I'd meet the man who would be my best friend and best man at my wedding: William Herbert. I'd never gotten close to others like me, but I was drawn to William during our time together in France/Belgium/One of those places. I suppose it was how different we were: William was molded as a Classic Officer, rather cold and aloof, but he was more brilliant than I would ever be. It was fairly easy to convince him to come over to the States for my wedding, and he also became the Godfather to my daughter Allison. Later on in the 20s we had our second child, a boy name Thomas. I stayed "on call" with the Army, but I spent as much time as I could with my two kids.

The Second World War changed everything. After Pearl I was called back up with my rank reinstated and immediately sent to the UK, my daughter became a WAAC, my son joined the infantry, and my wife went to the workforce. We were all doing our part for the greater good of the war effort, but one by one everything was taken from me... Shortly after I arrived in the UK, Herbert was killed in Africa (I never felt the same around his successor, the guy's way too outgoing and friendly) and my wife was killed in a nonwork-related incident in '42 shortly after. My daughter lost the plane she was transporting and disappeared alongside her crew. I never thought anything could blunt the way I look at the world, but that all did it. By the time Operation Torch rolled around in 1943 I'd become something nobody wanted to mess with, a dark shadow that permeated all my working. I'd become something cold and ruthless that frightened men on sight. I hadn't studied German Tactics in my grief, and my Great War logic cost me many good people in North Africa too just keep piling on how I felt. In the end, I was sidelined in Italy alongside some guy who I kinda shared a name with (confusing as all heck, mind you), and we just kinda plodded along pushing the Germans and Italians back. In the end, I asked for a position working with the Italian Royalists who'd decided to switch sides, a job for which I found myself better suited. Despite the misgivings everybody had about them, I used connections to get the group I was advising some up-to-date equipment and it is miraculous how much that changed their spirits. I'd become good friends with them by the time the war ended. I'd liked to have stayed, but sadly the home country called and I left them in good hands. I returned home to a son who was by now completely alien to me in both voice and action... so in the end we wound up parting ways, we were both unrecognizable to the other.

Back home, I developed a particular interest in the nuclear weapons that ended the war in the Pacific, and would often attend demonstrations and watch them. Of course, there was more reasoning behind it than just fascination. I wanted to know how much my body could take before it would go through the changing process. So uh... one day I decided to go and break some rules by placing myself within extremely lethal range of the weapon. For all normal purposes, judging by what had caused Able's death, it probably should have killed me. However, I suppose that maybe I'd gotten tougher, for when the bomb went off my skin turned rather crispy and I came down with what should have been fatal radiation poisoning according to the doctors I knew, but my body pulled some miracle again by either self-destructing on a cellular and then regenerating healthy cells or somehow correcting all the damaged data in my cells, I honestly don't know and don't want to either, that stuff was above my head and my paygrade, and still is. Of course, it took me about a month to fully recover from this, and boy did I feel it. My body took it's darn time saving me from that: I had about two straight weeks of almost constant vomiting and bowel issues, fevers, and having my head split open by what felt like an axe. Even after that period, which supposedly should have killed a normal person, I spent three weeks feeling absolutely miserable and getting reprimanded for my stupidity. I told them that if it would make them feel better, I'd resign my position. They took that offer, and in roughly 1947 or 1948 I became a civilian. However, the government just wasn't going to let me loose, they watched me a lot during that time, looking to see if I got others around me sick from being asymptomatic (luckily, I didn't).

Other than that, I didn't want any part of the Cold War or it's conflicts, and if I had my way I'd have stayed out of Korea to heal some more; but then they sacked MacArthur and replaced him with Ridgeway. Nothing against Ridgeway, of course, but my opinion of him wasn't as high as my regard for MacArthur. I wrote two letters that day: one to MacArthur with my condolences and one to President Truman asking him to get congress to reinstate me again. I'd recognized that by the call of the battlefield was doing it's hardest to remind me that it was my home and there was no running from it, and iterated that the nuclear incident wasn't my normal attitude or competence of action. I guess being some weird specimen won over their caution of putting a quote "idiot" back in the army. I got another promotion that day, getting my second star as I shipped out. I was okay with not having a unit command, I'd gotten used to it and sharpening my administrative skills in keeping our boys there supplied with what they needed when the normal quartermasters couldn't get things for them. That, and who would really want me in command of human lives when I'd gone and literally allowed myself to get nuked like I was Superman? I wound up working with the other General Clark again, and I wound down Korea with the same desk job as I'd started. I was going to ask for a rank reduction to get a more, err... fight-filled job, but it was requested of me to become an advisor/attaché type in West Germany. There I met prominent ex-German General and fellow non-human Arndt Hirsch. I'd known of Hirsch, of course, during his time goose-stepping for the Mustache Model, but this was the first time I'd seen him not being hindered by said mustache man. He and I worked together on a rather stalwart defensive plan for the Western Germans should the T-55s ever come smashing across the border. It was also there that I met Walther Schmidt, another from East Germany.

When Vietnam rolled around in the 60s, I was on my downhill run in my eyes, and I said I'd only do anything in the direct combat zone if there was absolutely no one else. As it turns out, I didn't have to set foot in Vietnam until 1970-ish, and even then I spent more time handcuffed to a desk than out in the field where I felt like I should have been, but in the end I found that I had a knack for working with people not of my nationality. Maybe I was a good example of what Capitalism creates? I had feelings, I felt loss. I wasn't any different from them. Or maybe I was an outlier and they were just all nice to me? When my building came under siege from some crazed remnants of Victor Charlie, it became the first time I'd ever fired a shot in anger at someone since World War I, and it pleased me to know I hadn't degraded much over the years. I was one of the earliest to leave Saigon afterwards, and it was then that I put forth my papers for retirement. I'd had a good run in this body, and I quite liked it and wanted to avoid as much wear-and-tear to it as possible until the next changing. They finally accepted my papers, but not before giving me my third star as I guess kind of a parting gift.

I retired to Pennsylvania, to the same woods I'd originally crawled out from, got myself a house, and settled in for what I supposed was the reminder of my time like this. The last time I donned a uniform was during some minor crisis in Central and South America, before putting it away for good hopefully... and that roughly brings us up to the Present I suppose...

Though, I will admit during my extensive service there was a few weird trips: That time I accidentally time traveled to the Battle of Grunwald and shot a bunch of Teutonic Knights (during my retirement).. Oh, and I can't forget that time the Aliens invaded at Roswell, New Mexico back in the late 40s, that nearly killed me and did kill a good few of those who were with me... Oh, and lastly it turns out there are alternate universes, because somewhere out there, I met a female version of me who has aged way better than I have... No, I'm serious, she's gorgeous."

---

Reporter: So, wait... what the heck? How is any of that last stuff possible? Why mention all that at the end?

Clark: If I told you that before my life story would you believe it?

Reporter: Err.. no.

Clark: So, after hearing the truth about my life, does it sound more plausible?

Reporter: Yes, Yes... I guess? *He coughed* Anyway, why are you telling the world now? Aren't you and the others like International Secrets?

Clark: I mean, I suppose I am, that we are; but I believe it's time that America knows I'm out here. I've done things for this country that make me proud, and some things that I should probably be ashamed of but not. The others may value their secrecy, but I sure don't.

Reporter: Of course, I give you my word that I make no references to a source other than military or government official.

Clark: *He laughs bombastically* Of course of course, my good man.

-- (Back to the Form)-

Appearance: Mark is around Five Feet Seven Inches tall. His face is ruddy and cragged, and his eyes a blazing bright blue. This is complimented by his thinning grey hair and a salty-colored beard and mustache combo that frame his face in such a way to give him a wizened, authoritarian like air. His rather large gut hangs off his abdomen to give him a jolly physical appearance. He wears a ragged tan peaked officer's cap on his head that is cocked to the side, and a lit Cuban Cigar is constantly dangling from his mouth. He wears an olive colored collared shirt made of garbadine, and a brownish necktie. Over that he wears a dark brown sweatervest, giving him almost a grandpa-like look to him. He'll occasionally wear a olive overcoat if the weather dictates so. His pants are also Olive Drab. His shoes however, are shiny and black leather shoes.

Level of Awesomeness: 'MERICA! tier

Age: 236 Years (Actual), 64 (Physical)

Sex: Male

Favorite Song: The Army Goes Rolling Along/Goodnight Saigon (by Billy Joel)/Leningrad (by Billy Joel)

Favorite Food: That mystery "meat" they force you to eat when you do military service.

'''Close Refreshed & Refurbished Model 1860 Light Cavalry Saber'''

A weapon almost as antiquated as Clark himself~ A relic of by gone times strengthened by both Arndt Hirsch (German Counterpart), Saysuma (Japanese Counterpart), and few others into a weapon that is both fashionable to occasionally wear, and strong enough to go steel-on-whatever with more advanced weapons... or for gouging the eyes of idiots who somehow got past his expert shooting skills.

'''Mid Model 1921 Thompson'''

50-round drum, foregrip, .45 ACP; Give Al Capone that freako smile and make most accountants and other people wet themselves before briefly wondering who's this fat military man before they're blown away.

'''Long M79 Blooper'''

A yes, the finest weapon to ever be put in the hands of a power hungry American. A 40mm Grenade Launcher capable of firing Explosive, Smoke, Buckshot, Flechette, and even Illumination Rounds for chasing the darkness and the creepy critters that inhabit it away.

'''Special Brian Connors'''

Formerly known as Sir William Herbert. Brian Connors is the tall, stately "successor" to Herbert's role as representative of the British Empire. Unlike his predecessor, Connors speaks with the Accent of the British Pacific and does his best to keep himself away from tumultuous frontline combat, preferring to exercise his planning and pseudo-foresight instead. However, his calm and positive nature has led those few mortals who know of his existence to crown him the wisest of those like him who inhabit the Earth. Those few who don't buy American Propaganda also consider him the most dangerous. This makes him the perfect counter-balance to the rather violence-oriented and bull-headed Clark. This contact, via earpiece/headseat/payphone/etc allows Connors to act as Clark's tiny voice of reason; which Clark himself appears to mostly lack.

'''Iconic Duel Colt Single Action Armies'''

"Son make peace with yourself, before I force it." A relic of both Clark's past self, past victories, past defeats, and possibly past war crimes. Depends which history book you read... Abilities
 * Rather Rapid Regeneration: A genetic ability held by Clark's Race that allows rapid physical and mental recovery. This is the same guy who back in the 1940s put himself at the near fatal point of a Nuclear Explosion just to see how well he could handle and recover from the blast and trauma of being violently torn to pieces and mutated at the atomic level. Needless to say, he got extremely sick, and it took him about a month to fully reform... which I guess could be considered impressive? It's good enough that he can shrug off most minor wounds rather quickly, but the more serious wounds don't recover as quickly; and as his body get's worn down the longer it takes to fully heal itself.
 * Deviant Deadeye: Clark is an absolute master with the handgun. However, occasionally he taunts his target with his superiority, using bullets to place his foes in rather embarrassing situations to get their dander up. Because if Mark knows one thing: It's that Angry people make stupid mistakes... mistakes that cost them their life.
 * Out with a Bang!: When the body becomes so overwhelmed with either constant damage that the regeneration process basically short circuits, or should he simply grow tired of his current form; his body erupts with the force of a Davy Crockett Tactical Nuke. The only recorded use of it in actual combat came in 1941 in North Africa upon when Sir William Herbert cut his promising life "short" by detonating himself after receiving multiple wounds that overrode his regeneration. Because for his kind there is not permanent death; there is just temporary death and like a month or two of rebuilding.
 * Generally, he goes to a special room built just for surviving and containing the blast. Also, there is no radiation, just the explosive power.