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Backroads: Modern Druids Pt. 1: Cock-eyed Charlie
Posted 12th March 2009 at 12:06 AM by Loonook
Backroads: Modern Druids Pt. 1: The William Westmoreland Memorial Park and Cock-eyed Charlie.
I have been debating writing these Backroads articles for awhile. I figured I would start with Druids as the ideas have been running through my head since I woke up this morning. This will be a series of character sketches of various people who could be found in a game featuring America as its major focus (though we will also probably have a few representatives from other locales over time). This is the first; a mid-level druid in repose by the name of Cock-eyed Charlie. Enjoy.
Yeah... it's tongue in cheek, naming it after that man. But if it hadn't been his damned plan then I would have never found myself. I lost a lot of friends in those days, so I raise a can to ya Westie... I guess I'll see you in Hell.
(ret.) Msgt. Charles Witney Carlson, aka Cock-eyed Charlie.
The old factory town of Darling, South Carolina used to boast one of the highest rates of employment in the US. Out of its 34,000 residents there were rarely a dozen fit, able men and women without a job. Reduced to poverty with the closing of the Essex Glassworks factory in 1959, the town fell into the classic spiral of want and desperation which has passed through hundred such towns over the course of Charles W. Carlson's lifetime. A sharp-minded spry young man, Charles came back from Vietnam with a Silver Star, two fouled legs, and a constantly askew perception. Carlson also came back from the conflict with talents which would lead him to being one of the most renowned spellslingers in his region.
On March 3rd, 1968 Carlson, a well-respected young non-com, found himself in an ambush with his unit just outside of a city near the border with North Vietnam. After two days of exchanged fire, Carlson and his men finally took their objective; a large tactically vital position deep in the town center. After congratulating his men and walking into the building, a Viet Cong demolitions expert exploded several charges inside of the structure, causing its collapse. Carlson was the only survivor of the explosion, and was taken into custody.
For two years Carlson spent his days being beaten and examined. A fellow prisoner, a young Khmer soldier who had attempted to defect to the Americans for assistance in getting his family out of Cambodia, had a faint understanding of English, and the two began a shaky relationship based on their mutual love for baseball and Carlson's budding interest in the religion of the Asian continent. His friend, who he refers to simply as Surin, began to regale him with stories of his own people and their spiritual practices. After awhile Carlson began to guess that his friend truly believed the stories as they were presented, and would ask whether any of these stories had a basis in reality. This question was met with sighs and the occasional near-toothless smile of a weary comrade-in-struggle.
On May 5th 1970 the prison camp was said to have been overrun by vermin. Guards were seemingly eaten alive, and two men claiming to be prisoners of war were picked up by a group of American GI on leave in a safe zone 150 miles from the border of North Vietnam. Carlson and Surin made it out alive, but both were extremely beaten. Carlson's eyes, never returning to their original focus, became a symbol of quiet ridicule amongst the men in his newly adopted unit, and his limping gait earned him a medical leave to the States. Carlson was jounced around to several different locations until he was finally honorably discharged in 1976 with disability.
Carlson's newfound talents made him a party of interest to several groups who studied esoterica; indeed, the so-called Rainbow Companies (groups of Servicemen (and women) who used their mystic talents to stem the tide of Shadow influence in the US) attempted to recruit him to their ranks. A quiet retirement followed for the injured veteran, and he now keeps a modest memorial park at the site of the former Essex Glassworks.
Cock-eyed Charlie, as he is known in the bars and roustabout areas in the region, is a quiet, gravely man who is a renowned horticulturist. He is involved in veteran's causes, and goes on 'tours of duty' gathering money for 4H and agricultural interests in the South. Wolfish in a clean suit that shows the man who once wore the uniform of the Service, Charlie spends most of his time in personal exile in a small cottage just outside of the Memorial. The Memorial is dominated by a large tree native to Vietnam, and a statue of Westmoreland in repose beneath the tree, seemingly contemplating his life and all that has passed.
The Memorial serves as a stop for many esoterica scholars. Charlie has great talents in plant and spirit-based magics; he has served in roles as varied as the author of Spirits of the Indochina Peninsula, and a talented mentor to a dozen hedge wizards and conjure women who live in the state. Charlie is also a member of the Circle of Thorns, a group of mystics who protect the Americas through the creation of great workings. The Grove is a healthy, vibrant place, and the weather within 50 miles of Darling is considered a microclimate all its own; calm, warm, and quiet.
Charlie would like to keep it that way.
I have been debating writing these Backroads articles for awhile. I figured I would start with Druids as the ideas have been running through my head since I woke up this morning. This will be a series of character sketches of various people who could be found in a game featuring America as its major focus (though we will also probably have a few representatives from other locales over time). This is the first; a mid-level druid in repose by the name of Cock-eyed Charlie. Enjoy.
Yeah... it's tongue in cheek, naming it after that man. But if it hadn't been his damned plan then I would have never found myself. I lost a lot of friends in those days, so I raise a can to ya Westie... I guess I'll see you in Hell.
(ret.) Msgt. Charles Witney Carlson, aka Cock-eyed Charlie.
The old factory town of Darling, South Carolina used to boast one of the highest rates of employment in the US. Out of its 34,000 residents there were rarely a dozen fit, able men and women without a job. Reduced to poverty with the closing of the Essex Glassworks factory in 1959, the town fell into the classic spiral of want and desperation which has passed through hundred such towns over the course of Charles W. Carlson's lifetime. A sharp-minded spry young man, Charles came back from Vietnam with a Silver Star, two fouled legs, and a constantly askew perception. Carlson also came back from the conflict with talents which would lead him to being one of the most renowned spellslingers in his region.
On March 3rd, 1968 Carlson, a well-respected young non-com, found himself in an ambush with his unit just outside of a city near the border with North Vietnam. After two days of exchanged fire, Carlson and his men finally took their objective; a large tactically vital position deep in the town center. After congratulating his men and walking into the building, a Viet Cong demolitions expert exploded several charges inside of the structure, causing its collapse. Carlson was the only survivor of the explosion, and was taken into custody.
For two years Carlson spent his days being beaten and examined. A fellow prisoner, a young Khmer soldier who had attempted to defect to the Americans for assistance in getting his family out of Cambodia, had a faint understanding of English, and the two began a shaky relationship based on their mutual love for baseball and Carlson's budding interest in the religion of the Asian continent. His friend, who he refers to simply as Surin, began to regale him with stories of his own people and their spiritual practices. After awhile Carlson began to guess that his friend truly believed the stories as they were presented, and would ask whether any of these stories had a basis in reality. This question was met with sighs and the occasional near-toothless smile of a weary comrade-in-struggle.
On May 5th 1970 the prison camp was said to have been overrun by vermin. Guards were seemingly eaten alive, and two men claiming to be prisoners of war were picked up by a group of American GI on leave in a safe zone 150 miles from the border of North Vietnam. Carlson and Surin made it out alive, but both were extremely beaten. Carlson's eyes, never returning to their original focus, became a symbol of quiet ridicule amongst the men in his newly adopted unit, and his limping gait earned him a medical leave to the States. Carlson was jounced around to several different locations until he was finally honorably discharged in 1976 with disability.
Carlson's newfound talents made him a party of interest to several groups who studied esoterica; indeed, the so-called Rainbow Companies (groups of Servicemen (and women) who used their mystic talents to stem the tide of Shadow influence in the US) attempted to recruit him to their ranks. A quiet retirement followed for the injured veteran, and he now keeps a modest memorial park at the site of the former Essex Glassworks.
Cock-eyed Charlie, as he is known in the bars and roustabout areas in the region, is a quiet, gravely man who is a renowned horticulturist. He is involved in veteran's causes, and goes on 'tours of duty' gathering money for 4H and agricultural interests in the South. Wolfish in a clean suit that shows the man who once wore the uniform of the Service, Charlie spends most of his time in personal exile in a small cottage just outside of the Memorial. The Memorial is dominated by a large tree native to Vietnam, and a statue of Westmoreland in repose beneath the tree, seemingly contemplating his life and all that has passed.
The Memorial serves as a stop for many esoterica scholars. Charlie has great talents in plant and spirit-based magics; he has served in roles as varied as the author of Spirits of the Indochina Peninsula, and a talented mentor to a dozen hedge wizards and conjure women who live in the state. Charlie is also a member of the Circle of Thorns, a group of mystics who protect the Americas through the creation of great workings. The Grove is a healthy, vibrant place, and the weather within 50 miles of Darling is considered a microclimate all its own; calm, warm, and quiet.
Charlie would like to keep it that way.
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