[Red Lion]

I tend to make a lot of typos and the quality of my work varies depending on how invested I am. I can write reasonable stuff if I need to.

Here's a little bit on Kurt, from his origin story. Need some work though.

"Herr Major?"

Kurt was brought out of his thoughts by the voice of a young boy"Ja?" he replied turning to look down at the young soldier. He sighed inwardly. The lad was barely into his teens, probably drafted into the youth like so many other, Kurt himself had been such a boy when his life as a soldier began. He'd been different back then, new and clean and pure, just like this boy who stood before him in a uniform that represented concepts and ideas no one so young and innocent could fathom.

"Speak up lad, I'm listening" Kurt barked harshly. Whether he liked his job anymore or not, he was an officer and he had to remember his duties and his rank.

The boy bit his lip "We're going to die to day aren't we?" he asked quietly, dark eyes full of fear.

For a moment Kurt almost entertained the thought of giving the boy some false hope but he knew that innocence couldn't live forever and that even a child should know that mercy was nothing but a foreign dream for them "Ja we've lost the war. There's nothing left for us to do but die like the men we are" he put a hand on the boy's shoulder "We won't be remembered for our actions either,not in a good way at least, we aren't the hero's of this story. When we die today that's the end, we can only hope to maintain a shred of our dignity by dying like real soldiers, no begging, no weeping, we must always remember our courage,".

The boy face twisted in dismay and Kurt felt suddenly very old. At Thirty-Two he felt ancient perhaps it was a good thing that the end was in sight. He'd spend twenty years serving this country, a country who's morals he now questioned and who's honor was long tainted. But he was still proud, he would always be proud, wrong or right....a German soldier does not turn his back on his nation.

"Don't lose heart yet,"

Kurt turned to see his longtime friend Wilhelm, "You know as well as I do, even if we survive this last battle the Allied forces won't go easy on us, it will be the firing squad for certain,".

"you don't know that! We could escape, there's still time to run," Wilhelm replied, his pale brow furrowing and his light brown hair falling into his eyes, "Kurt, you don't have to die today," he insisted with an eagerness that unsettled Kurt.

Kurt was transfixed by the eerie gleam in his comrade's eye. Wilhelm had changed quite a bit over the past year. He had become pale and increasingly withdrawn, and there was the strangest aura around him. For the first time in his life Kurt felt that he didn't know his friend.

"What the devil are you talking about?!" Kurt growled. "Do you know something I don't?"

Wilhelm shrugged "Perhaps...Maybe you'll find out today. Oh don't glare at me like that I'm your friend, just trust me." Wilhelm fixed his strangely luminous violet eyes on Kurt. "We are still friends aren't we?" he asked.

Kurt narrowed his eyes and gave a hesitant nod. Then he turned and left, Battle was raging on the ground and his unit would be dispatched soon...he had to prepare.

One hour left before deployment. Kurt was in the washroom shaving. Being well groomed wouldn't help him in the slightest but, it gave him comfort to do something with his time, he felt like he was preforming a last ritual to prepare for his execution. He ran the razor over his cheek one last time then peered into the mirror. He needed a hair cut, his curling, messy, white-blond hair was starting to look ragged and strands were hanging in his silvery grey eyes. He was not a very handsome man. He had rough hawkish features and ruddy tanned skin. Dark circles under his eyes and the lines etched around his thin mouth gave testimony to the hardships he had endured. He picked up a pair of shears and prepared to trim his hair when the call to move out was sounded. Putting the shears down he gave his reflection a final long look.

"Well time to die." He said grimly.

He put on his coat and smoothed out any wrinkles, his uniform spotless, he did not run out of the barracks, rather he walked, marching with all the courage and dignity he could summon to meet his end.