Richard Luithle


Gender: Male

Kit: Normal

Location: 19th Century Europe


Alignment: Hero

Team: Solo Hero


Strength: weak (rank 0)

Agility: standard (rank 1)

Mind: superior (rank 2)

Body: weak (rank 0)

Spirit: (rank )

Charisma: (rank )


Fame Points: 0

Personal Wins: 13

Personal Losses: 20

Team Wins: 0

Team Losses: 0

Tourney Wins: 0

Tourney Losses: 0


Status: Active



The quiet hum of the car on the tracks was soothing, reassuring even. I had bought my own private car, so I was alone in my thought. I looked out of the window at the passing Italian country side, for a year now I've been riding thoughout Continental Europe. This is the ideal time for a man of my trade, the clashing of opposite ideologies, as it had occured so many times in the past, had yet again been turned to violence by the sands of time. And I was in the thick of it. I did not become a mercenary for fame, for glory. I wasn't part of some secret underground cult, nor did fighting run in my blood. I was simply poor, and I had a skill that I used to feed myself. Unfortunately, there's really nothing more to it. Do not see me as a romantic hero, I am simply an artisan, without a guild. I am only an urban merchant, not an angel of death, nor a champion of freedom. I am a realist, I am practical, I do not fit in with the romanticism raging rampantly around me. I am not a nationalist, nor a liberal, nor a nationalist, I do not see the issues of government as part of the job I am required to do, I simply do what I do, for the person who pays me the most. I do feel as though I will be forced to choose a part one day, or risk being pursued by both sides. But hopefully, I will be out of this damned trade by then.

Eventually, as day faded into night, the Alps came into view. I would soon be leaving Italy, and my work aiding the nationalists of that country would be to an end. My next destination would be Germany. This time, I would combat nationalism instead of aid it, its all a part of the gran plan. The great strategists of history do not feel partial, rather they move with the tides of history. The man I learned my trade from made his pay fighting during the Napoleonic wars, but external war has become to dangerous a luxury for Europe to afford in these times. Not when there are liberals and nationalists trying to disable the regime, trying to grind the old conservative order of the Congress of Viena to the dirt. Not when the socialists and Chartists are trying to overthrow the evils of the Industrial Revolution. No, this the age of revolutions, the age of "isms", the turning point in history, will fail to turn, but it will signify a shift from external to internal conflict. It will fail to turn because, in their everending struggle, the two factions will never win, the conservatives will keep underestimating the nationalists, and the nationalists will keep flopping around aimlessly like a fish out of water. It matters not to me however, and I doubt I will be around to see the end of the conflict. As long as I get my own, the rest of the world could be damned.


There is still a long road to Germany from here. I relaxed and slouched back in my private cabin, throwing my feet up. Time to meditate. Information was my ally, flowing in from all corners of Europe, and now was the time I sat down to process it. The eastern question, reform in Britain, Metternich in Austria, the ongoing revolutions in France. I almost smiled, there was so much to do, and so little time to do it in. Perhaps I would muse on something less cosmopolitan to ease my restless mind.

I began thinking of my father, a prominent nationalist in Italy. He wanted more time with his country than with his son. Naturally, I grew up the son of a wanted man, a convict for wanting a unified Italy. My mother had passed away right after I was born, so I was alone. I would read the newspapers and pretend to be a dashing military general like Napoleon himself. In much a way, his portrait by David (still my favorite artist) of him crossing the alps served as more of a father to me than my real one. I remember crying at his defeat in Waterloo, and his exile. Crying more than I did at the headstone of my father's grave, 20 years later. He left me almost nothing, he had spent all of his money on unsuccesful attempts against the Austrian military. I thought the Italian Risorgimento to be forever dead, and I never returned to the Carboni, to Mazzini, or to the Young Italy (the secret revolutionary society my father participated in). Left with no money, I dragged myself to Britain, and a chance at new life. I was to take advantage of the Industrial Revolution, laying tracks for the new railroads. It was back breaking work, it did not make me strong, it broke me. And then the "Reform" bills of Britain came, leaving me jobless because I wasn't old enough. I remember the day I walked through Manchester's rotten, industrial, center. The blace was like a black cancer on Mother earth, the factory consuming the surrounding Earth and poisoning it with pollution. Crime was rampant, sanitation was horrible, and all the British government could do was pass voting reforms. I turned to workhouses and begging, and to this day, I do not know which was worse. I did meet people who had it worse than me in the workhouses however, they were Irish. Forced to move because of the potato famine, which Britain did nothing about. And to think Britain served as a shining example to Continental Europe, with its hypocritical, corrupt parliament, and its hollow reforms.

A passing vineyard interrupted me in my thoughts. It was getting late, and I should probably have gone to sleep, but my memories dragged me back into my thought. It was rought times for a while, shuttling between workhouses and begging on the streets. But eventually, I met a man, who taught me how the world works, the systems, the politics. I was no longer angry at Britain, but rather cold towards as rough going for a while.The man's name was Karl Marx, a revolutionary man with incredible economic ideas. This man would someday change the world, and I still keep a draft of a book called the Communist Manifesto that he gave me as a goodbye gift. I remember it well, he gave me a wink, and a quote that I remember to this day, "A generationg that takes a beating, is always followed by a generation that gives one." It was interesting thinking about my past, however, it was getting late, and I needed to be awake for my arrival at Germany. Soon, I drifted to sleep in my cabin, thinking of the world, and how it would influence my future.



     Tactician: superior (rank 2)


Fighting is my trade, but Marx taught me that the brain is stronger than the arm, and that by the school of thought, and reason, could we reach a perfect nation, a utopia. He believed that Utopia was not a place, but a people, and that it would exist the moment were fit to occupy it. He was a good man, a man who taught me the gift of thought, not for murdering, but to aid in the creation of a Utopia. Poor man. He taught me how the world works, its machinations, the mind of the politic, the power of the economy. But I did not use my newfound powers to aid him in creating a perfect society. I needed a job that paid, and so I used knowledge to acquire the status of the most sought after soldier in the world. Standing before Grand Chancellor Metternich in his opulent office, I wonder if he knoew what I was capable of.

"Mr. Luithle, is it not? I welcome you to the kingdom of Austria."

Before he said another sentance, I sized up the man, and the situation. I glanced down at his ornate mahogany desk, stacked with papers. I recognized one as the papers for The German Confederation, Metternich's attempt to unite the Germanic states in crushing the roots of rebellion. The multi-ethnic composition of the Hapsburg Empire meant liberalism and nationalism was potentially more dangerous than in other countries, I noted. And Metternich looked like a desperate man. My eye shot over the Carlsbad Decrees, another attempt to restrict unification movements, this time with university students. The man was more desperate than even I thought. Unfortunately, the man was not a futurist. He could not see the aggressive campaigns of the Hohenzollern dynasty in Prussia, they only fronted to oppose Metternich's policies. In reality, they too wanted a unified Germany, only for themselves. With Austria out of the slice. The man may have been stupid, but he was the orchestrator of Conservatism in all of Europe, the top man in the Congress of Vienna, a connection much to valuable to lose. That and, he would pay well. With resistance coming in from Poland, Belgium, and Hungary, this was a very profitable situation for me indeed. To answer his question, "Indeed Lord Metternich, I hope to use my skills to the best of my ability in service of The Great Chancellor."

"Indeed. Well, my head of military, General Hegel will discuss plans for the Austrian future in the war room."

I gave my thanks, and politely bowed before turning on my heels and walking out.


Combat Analysis

     Tactician: superior (rank 2)


There was a difference between strategy and tactics. While I learned the broadness of international strategy from Marx, I learned my tactical ability from Napoleon. I studied his strategy when I was growing up as a boy, read and read about it, until I knew more about winning a war than I knew about myself. The general was clumsy, and foolish. After instructing him on where to properly send forces to reinforce the Greek opposition to the Ottoman Empire, and how to turn various revolutionary factions against eachother, I finally recieved my assignment. To supress the Italian Revolutions. My throat tightened.

"Is there a problem Herr Luithle?"

I cleared my throat, "Erm, no problem at all General. When do I leave?"

"The next train there will be tommorow. I'm terribly sorry, as I know you've just come from there, but our troops sorely need help against Mazzini."

Not saying anything, I quickly turned out of the room. After renting a room in a "hotel" (one of the most useful products of the Industrial Revolution in my opinion), I sat down on the bed, in deep thought. I was going to be fighting the one thing my father fought for, the one thing that mattered in his life. to my own suprise, old, angry feelings welled up deep inside me. Mazzini, that bastard, his movement took my family away from me. And for what? Hollow campaigns against the French? The revolution took away anything I ever had, forced me to live most of my life in poverty. I would not feel for my father's movement, after all, for all of the Utopian ideas Marx taught me, he also taught me a more hardened one. It was termed Social Darwinism, Marx was diametrically opposed to it, but the idea resonated in my young mind. Only the strong survive, and I will not let my pathetic father's influence keep me from reaching the top.


The Sisters

     Piercing Weapon: superior (rank 2)

  • Ranged Attack
  • Multi-Attack


I called them the twin sisters, Arabella and Carmina. They were the perfect mesh of science and magic. The steel of the Industrial Revolution, enhanced with gypsy magic. Once I was rich from my various campaigns, I returned to Italy. I had the guns back then too, my favorite weapons, 2 high powered Revolvers, the best that money could buy. but they were simply tools back then, they had no meaning. I had returned to Italy to see if I saw my homeland in any different a view, to see if my success somehow changed the views that I saw for so long. My success didn't, but something else did. Along those Apenine mountains, in perfect solitude, in harmony with nature for the first time I would grasp something incredible. Something that would change the way I thought, the single greatest influence on my previously meaningless life. I found love for the first time. A gypsy and her daughter, but I didn't notice the class difference, and neither did they. It was incredible, but I had to work. And my line of work brought enemies. I remember returning to the village, the blood on the floor... I physically and mentally recoiled from the memory. I didn't need to go there now. That was the one time in my life that I actually understood the Romantics, the one time I actually felt satisfied instead of angry, warm instead of cold. But what happened to me will parallel what will eventually happen to the Italian unification movement. for they are both based on the same ideals, they are both based on love and romance instead of practicality and realism. The relationship between me and Arabella and her daughter Carmina, is exactly parallel to the relationship between Mazzinni and his "Young Italy". Poor man, eventually he will realize what I have come to realize. The world has no place for sentiments, to change the waters of history, you need to be cold and impassioned, calculating and purely Machiavellian. I picked up my twin revolvers. The revolutions of the era will not be won by sentiments and passion, but by blood and iron.