Prof. Æthelweard Kendrick's page

Æthelweard chips in;

"Indeed. And he mentioned Doggerland also... He was clearly distressed and rambling madly as Lightning Blade touched on."

Æthelweard shoots the rakish swordsman a withering look before adding his own thoughts to the mix;

"Ahem. I believe Mister Challenger and Miss Spellbound have the crux of it. Whilst I truly appreciate the Blake-like poetic summerisation, I would also bid you explain your fearful assumption on her nature..."

As he mulls his own words, the Professor also adds further clarification;

"The devourer myth is prevalent in many cultures; an entity that signifies the End of Times and consumes both the living and oft the dead in equal measure..."

The lanky academic arches an eyebrow in dramatic pause before continuing his laboured point:

"Interestingly the Old Norse word for giant - Jötunn comes from the Proto-Germanic etunaz and means “devourer.” The Old English eóten is a cognate... meaning my alter-ego could also be considered a "devourer". In short gentlemen - are we dealing with another codenamed villain or something more symbolic?"

Æthelweard mulls the words, as he cranes to look upon the old pages;

"Very foreboding... Very Lovecraftian in context..."

At the additional information the Professor verbalises his thoughts on the matter;

"So this 'Devorador d'estrelles' - the Eater of Stars; you say she is coming - and somehow this Overlord chappie, who is one of the Hun... he wants to lay out a welcome mat for her?"

Æthelweard shakes the younger man's hand whilst introducing himself to both;

"Pleased to meet you both. I'm Professor Kendrick... my Uncle was Sir Thomas Kendrick - the Keeper of British Antiquities. I believe he met you once Mr Grayland... Spoke very highly of you..."

Æthelweard nods at the group's instructions;

"Yes-yes. Politics best avoided... Nothing new there. I look forward to perusing Mr Grayland's shop wares and of course our discussion to come..."

The Professor gestures to the rest of the group;

"I'm no master of subterfuge but perhaps this lot are students under my tutelage? On a trip to Barcelona?"

The lanky academic seems genuinely pleased the group are visiting a locale verging on cultured;

",,, could be a veritable treasure trove of knowledge! Lieutenant - can we trouble you for some of the local currency... pesetas I believe they are... Should we wish to purchase something?"

The Professor merely hunkers deeper into his heavy coat to avoid any inclement weather;

"Perhaps find a gem of a tome nestling in the dusty corner... I do love book shops..."

Not sure if Lightning Blade is jumping aboard with Gracie in Chopper #2 or solo in Chopper #3?

Æthelweard also emerges and reluctantly boards one of the choppers (will leave the pairing off to those already onboard - nae fussed who he shares with)

Æthelweard nods at Isherwood as the Lieutenant informs the group of the protocols.

"Jolly good. I suppose a newspaper would be a stretch? Not one of those tabloid rags mind... Something with a higher brow of writing..."

With that the lanky academic bids the rest of the team goodnight and retires to his quarters.

Once inside Æthelweard he checks for the presence of pyjamas, before making a cup of strong tea and settling at the desk.

The professor makes some informal notes of their (mis) adventures thus far, before moving on to write up some other detailed thoughts on an academic paper he is in the throes of conceptualising; Bread from Bones: The Cultural Legacy of Giants and their Myths.

As he writes, Æthelweard is given to pauses when he proofs his words - noting that subconsciously Old English crop up throughout his writings.

Eventually tiredness from his day, drives the tall man to his cot, where the peace of sleep envelopes him...

Æthelweard listens to Frostorm's answers impassively.

As he hears of more potential foes, the academic rubs his temples as if suddenly weary;

Ne the only enhanced one? That is gód! Others to fell! Others to gréten!

Adding to Lightning Blade's query with his own, Æthelweard wonders:

"Ask him who the boss chap is? Perhaps he's know to you already eh?"

Æthelweard joins the others in stoically surveying the memorial wall;

"Mmmm. So we have talk of divergent timelines, of deaths before their anointed time... which, to be honest if we possess such skeins of fate surely such anomalies would have been apparent?"

The lanky professor nods at Lighting Blade and Gracie's words;

"Indeed. Master Blade and Lady Gracie both make pertinent points. Your monument to fated death is clearly no longer accurate, or is already being re-written... Perhaps our Devourer is at the heart of this eh?"

Expertise - Myth & Legend: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (12) + 15 = 27

Taking into account that roll...

His mind clearly working overtime, the Professor begins to muse and lecture;

"The ancient Egyptians... Not my preferred field of lore you understand, but bear with me... Yes... The ancient Egyptians had a demonic creature named Ammit which, they believed, consumed "unworthy" souls to make them "die a second time"... Perhaps we deal with followers of such a creature or warped faith?"

He coughs, then shrugs his shoulders;

"Merely a hypothesis to add to the theories presented thus far..."

Æthelweard listens to Professor Farthingram's deductions with interest;

"Devourer eh? In Old English we would say Forswelgend... Somewhat foreboding regardless..."

At the news that the group will be travelling to Barcelona, and a bookshop no less seems to agree with the curmudgeony academic;

"Ispánia? Excellent. Perhaps Mr Bull has a tome or two that might be of interest... to me at least."

Æthelweard muses Longbow's point, eying the DICE officials for a sign of clarity;

"Good point old chap. Also the presumption nestled in there that we will be expected to visit this Doggerland somehow?"

He sups his tea and offers further thought on the subsea matter;

"Surely it would make more sense to send trained divers on such an endeavour? Or perhaps one of those little deep sea saucer machines I've seen on The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau television programme?"

Answering Gracie

Æthelweard nods sagely;

"Indeed it does Mistress Good Knight..."

The academic continues with his anecdote;

"... My Uncle Thomas Downing Kendrick, late Keeper of British Antiquities; whom may I add someone who worked for Crown and Country in similarly clandestine fashion... As a lad TD would to tell me of the ancient tome Daemonologie, In Forme of a Dialogue was written in blood...."

Hawthorne's Speech

Æthelweard stoically listens before stating rather than questioning:

"As a man whose studies and whose... "gifts" are steeped in the ancient lore and history of Albion, I find the casual talk of things still to come, of this future as a present, somewhat disconcerting..."

Æthelweard scans the document with a furrowed brow.

"Painless removal of knowledge"... Seems somewhat draconian in undertone...

"Do we sign with blood or ink?" he mutters wryly.

The Professor takes up his pen and signs regardless...

At Challenger's dismissal of his interest, the stern Professor clearly takes umbrage;

"Mr Challenger... I did not say I was not interested... merely that such pursuits are not where my aptitudes lie. Like I said sir; I am a scholar, a researcher not an armsman like your good-self."

As the interactions between the group begin to degenerate into petty squabbling and bickering, Æthelweard looks to the DICE dignitaries with an expression of aversion;

Like quarrelsome children!

"Ahem. Perhaps instead of teaching manoeuvres and stratagem, you should perhaps begin with extolling the virtues of good manners and sound communication eh?"

At the mention of unit training, the Professor splutters into his teacup and shoots Challenger a jaundiced look;

"Dear boy. You and our American friend here might savour the blood and thunder of tactical manoeuvring, but I can assure you that neither I, nor my brutish counterpart would seek to take part in such bellicose activities..."

Biting into his garibaldi biscuit with an air of egoism (if one can portray such a thing crunching a biscuit) Æthelweard continues;

"I should delineate my stance somewhat... I, am a Professor... an academic... a researcher and historian... and damned fine one to-boot! Martial pursuits are not my forte you understand?"

He then flashes a hard smile;

"However my... alter ego revels in such scenarios... however he is more of a force of nature... Full of fervour and sizeable ire so-to-speak... Alas, as a Giant of Albion, he does not follow orders well..."

Æthelweard accepts his tea from the orderly, then divides his attention between listening intensely to Commander Hawthorne and fishing for a custard cream or garibaldi on the biscuit plates.

For those non-Brits the Custard Creams and Garibaldi biscuits are bastions of the British tea-time. Figured our curmudgeonly Professor would be no different :)

As a man used to delivering detailed expositions, Æthelweard tells his tale betwixt bites of biscuit;

”What transpired indeed… Alas some of what I recall is rather hazy… an unfortunately side-effect of my alter ego. If necessary I can arrange that yourself or the good lieutenants hear his side of things, however I would exercise caution in such a course as his patience and eloquence can be tested in a scenario such as this… even with such bloody good biscuits!”

The Professor finishes another bite, then continues;

”I do remember an explosion, which resulted in an annoying screech and crackle in that ear-communications do-dah that you gave us all. I seem to have mislaid mine… apologies do hope they aren’t too expensive! Anyway I digress… I believe my alter ego engaged the scurrilous villains…”

Æthelweard’s words tail off as he loses himself in memory fog of the combat;

…. I… He laid low the woman I think. I feel her body buckle under his fists and frustration… Apart from that Mr Challenger here told me that the Protector chap kept shouting madly, chanting that “Devorado is coming! or some such. And something else… think he mentioned Dogger-something too… Yes. I… He heard it… Doggerland.”

The Professor shrugs, then scowls as his dunked biscuit falls off into his cuppa;

”Balderdash. Perhaps the others can provide more… tactical acumen to the tale.”

Æthelweard muses Challenger's recital of the insane heroes ramblings, searching perhaps for some significance from his own studies;

Expertise - Myth & Legend: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (12) + 15 = 27

"Mmmm. Interesting... Devorado is coming... What else did he say old chap?"

Makes sense - Challenger and the Professor in one bird...

Æthelweard looks forlorn for a moment, then smiles awkwardly;

"Mmmm. Not good... Every cloud and all that though..."

He turns things back to the combat, and more specifically Protector;

"Mr Challenger... Did you catch what the golden chap was jabbering about? Others mentioned he was shouting and raving like a Bedlam inmate! I vaguely recollect him saying something, but my brutish alter-ego has not allowed the words to resonate..."

The Professor also boards, awkwardly seating himself in the chopper.

At Challenger's affirmation Æthelweard arches an eyebrow as he nods slowly;

"Good tidings that bode well..."

The lanky academic looks at the wreckage wrought as the team's chopper lifts off, musing on what occurred as he does;

"I... remember snippets... although feel I watched the "tussle" through a fog or on a cinematic screen rather than was part of it. Detached I think the analytical term is... How did the rest of you fare?"

... and in his place stands, once again, Professor Æthelweard.

Draped in his heavy fur coat that the giant wore as a mere pelt, his forehead a sheen of pained sweat, the lanky academic blinks slowly.

Then with some effort composes himself and stands his lanky frame straight.

"Quite the adventure eh? I trust my... alter ego showed himself to be a boon to our endeavours?"

Balderdash and bugger. Forgot my flask.

Æthelweard looks forlornly as the Chinook drifts up and off;

Ah well. This theatre is best suited for a heavier footstep...

As the explosive warning heralds the situation becoming far graver, the Professor nods to himself and retreats somewhat into his heavy fur coat, muttering in a ancient tongue;

Áweccan! Slæping eoten áwacian!

Upon uttering the phrase, the tall professor bows, crouched over in seeming pain...

Then you hear the sounds of sinews and bone popping and crunching as the man's form seems to expand and grow... and eloquent speech is replaced with a rumbling groan...

Æthelweard listens intently as Fowlds outlines their mission;

"Dear boy I am an academic and scholar, so I will presume you speak to my... brutish alter ego. He... I... will most likely dispense with your gadget at the first opportunity... and as for language... do your boffins speak Old English? I think likely no... or should I say ná!

The lean Professor shrugs apologetically and dons the communications earpiece;

"Prof. Æthelweard Kendrick here, but would much rather be in his study with a glass of port and old tome to read. Eoten will be along, as and when called upon...."

The Professor listens to the interplay of his new companions with a passing interest.

The masked newcomer and young girl do little to pique his interest, and when Captain Fowlds enters and orders, he sullenly grabs a flask of tea, pulls his heavy coat closer as he trudges to the Chinook, before awkwardly folds himself into helicopter with a degree of trepidation.

"Whirly-gigs and flying machines alas are not my thing..."

Once strapped in Æthelweard's obvious discomfort is offset by his interest being piqued at the young woman's claim to wield "real magic";

"My dear if I may... This real magic you speak of - incantations and the like? I've studied the lore of the cunning folk and wicce at length, and will be most fascinated to see you practice your craft..."

Challenger's introduction is almost lost on the Professor as Gracie's talk of armour, and Arthur fire his imagination.

The lanky academic snaps from his romantic notions and looks Challenger sternly up and down;

"Yes. Quite. Military man eh? So you'll have the inside track on what we're all here for then?"

Æthelweard flashes an awkward smile at Gracie's surprise;

"Yes quite. Ahem..."

The lanky professor shuffles over to the warrior-woman, scrutinising her armour closely;

"Miss... Gracie... Your garb and nom du guerre are a tip of the hat to the fabled knight-maiden's of antiquity are they not?"

He leans in like a tall tree bending, awkwardly looking over make up of the amazonian heroine's protective garb:

"Ah yes... The styling of your armour is a little inaccurate however... the pauldron for instance... but I heartily commend your choice of attire in these days of Captain Whomever and other such trite codename conventions..."

Standing in the cold hanger does little to improve the surly mood of the lanky man wearing a heavy fur coat and severe expression.

As Lightning Bade takes a bow, he casts him a jaundiced eye, before raising an brow at the swordsman's dramatic display;

"The pluck and confidence of youth is to be commended Lighting Blade... and the tabloid press do seem to love you. However be careful what you wish for... There are things that tread this earth that will test your mettle to its limits and beyond..."

The tall man sighs, his breath visible.

"Dear boy I am... become, something more barbarous... shall we say, than your obvious skill with rapier and promptitude. It... That is I... am called Eoten... though the folk of the South West have taken to calling us... The Giant of Albion."

DMJ - wee question would you consider a Danish mercenary character background? Going through some ideas and this did cross my mind...

Dotting for interest as previously mentioned DMJ

Still going for a Saxon convert Corbie.

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