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Fredrick Zimmerman

PLAYED BY: Jacob Veldhuizen
CONTACT INFO: www.facebook.com/jacob.veldhuizen
CHARACTER NAME: Fredrick Zimmerman
CLASS: Cleric
AGE: Born in the year 226 (42 as of 268)
RACE: Human
HAIR: Blonde
EYES: Grey-blue
BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria, Faedrun
NOTABLE TRAITS and APPEARANCE: Tall and lean, Fredrick looked every bit the part of a servant of the Order before his features were horrifically damaged by second and third-degree burns while trapped in the fire in the Keep at Starkhaven during “The Order Civil War”. Outwardly contemplative and gentle with an intensity simmering just below.
RELATIONSHIPS: Sister Josephine (Friend, killed June 267), Brother Hugo (Friend before the fire)
June 24th, 267
The flames that had consumed Brother Fredrick’s body were now little more than small embers glowing in the early morning light. Dew had formed in areas not scorched by the previous night’s fire and a light fog hung in the morning’s June air. What little Brother Fredrick could feel of the soft breeze caressing his blackened body was sheer pain. Torturing his raw newly exposed skin and nerves, he might have been thankful that most of his body was unfeeling as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Laying trapped under fallen beams Brother Fredrick slipped into memory.
He had been excited, nervous, but he was prepared. Weeks of study and practice had gone into readying himself for that fateful summit. Proud that he had been given this diplomatic mission he stood tall as Brother Oliver walked to the table. He almost felt bad for the man. He was a good servant of Arnath. He just happened to have succumbed to corrupting influences. And that’s why he, why the Chapter of the Fist, were there. To once again make the difficult decision, bare the pain that others could not so that light could find its way in the world. Brother Fredrick was not surprised when he was informed of the Fist’s decision to march on Starkhaven. A corruption of the soul had slowly crept in through the Chapter of the Light who stood poised to take control of The Order. They had become false guides and had blinded the eyes of their leader, Alexandros Makedon, the Hand of Arnath. He needed to be free of their influence. Of that, Brother Fredrick was certain.
As it had throughout the night, pain brought Brother Fredrick’s mind back into the present. He tried shifting his weight under the large oaken slab only to feel an immediate surge of hot pain shoot down his left arm. He knew his left hand had been crushed. Little energy left, he slowly felt down his side with his right hand to itch at an angry red piece of flesh. The fire had long ago reduced his clothing to ash and he now lay naked to fate, slipping into unconsciousness once again.
Brother Fredrick felt similarly exposed when initial dialogs had stalled at the table and the talks spilled into the streets in what had rapidly turned into a very public debate. Lay Order Sergeant Basil Gavras had taken the reins from the more soft-spoken Brother Oliver and used his commanding presence to turn the favor of the crowd to the Chapter of Light’s side. Brother Fredrick had not prepared for such public debate and was shakily holding ground. He knew his arguments to be true but could do little to combat Basil’s loud twisting of the truth. Anger began to cloud his groomed demeanor.
That anger had only grown as Brother Fredrick lay helpless. It had not been washed away by tears of pain, nor wished away on prayers for relief. It had not dissolved when hopelessness began its insidious creep into his thoughts or when exhaustion took hold. His anger burned right on through the night, becoming ever more violent, lashing out at circumstance and suspects to his dying. He screamed with and at that anger. As if to mock his efforts only dry coughing left his burned throat before he collapsed into nothingness.
At the top of his lungs, Brother Fredrick yelled to the Hand to stop the fighting that had broken out between the two chapters. He yelled at the Fist Lions standing watch. He yelled at the Chapter Master who continued to guard the Hand locked in the Keep. Blood was needlessly being spilled and it was on the hands of all present. Only moments prior had an uneasy calm took hold over Starkhaven once both parties left the debate to re-group. Brother Fredrick had assumed they would reconvene and continue negotiations. He was shocked when reports reached him that fighting had started, attempting to dislodge the Fist. He knew it would not work. The Fist was too well prepared and entrenched to be pried out without massive loss of life on both sides. It was this knowledge that caused him to run to the Keep. It was this knowledge that caused him to yell to anyone in power to stop. And it was what caused him to ignore the fire quickly spreading throughout the Keep.
He awoke to shouts for help. Quickly the large beam that pinned him was lifted. The pain and sensation knocked him out. More voices. More debris removed. He was moving when he awoke next. Carried on a stretcher, a healer walking beside reciting prayers. In and out of consciousness again. The healer speaking to others standing around him. Months of healing ahead. Hand lost. Darkness and then soft light. Soothing balms and cool soups. His bandages were changed regularly and he began to remember the days. He was no longer trapped under oak logs but it would still be weeks before he was walking again. He had survived. The fire in the Keep had long since been extinguished but it would long be carried in the heart of Fredrick Zimmerman.

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