He has canaries. C:



A small chunk of my story giving a broad overview of Atticus' service in the War is beneath the cut ~ ♥

Link to his Biography is also below cut~

Von~ The Icelandic word for hope. Seeing how I'm not talented enough to create my own language, lol, I'm just using Icelandic as the voice of my race. (:

hahaha He looks chubbier than he actually is in this for some reason. xD But yes, he is chubby, he never has been slim. He got his height from his mother's side of the family, they think. She was an average sized lady, and so was his father, but she does have tall relatives...They're still not sure how he ended up like he is, after all his younger sister is quite normal, 5'3 and 125 lbs. Atticus on the other hand, is about 7'8" and 345 lbs. He was more like 310 lbs when he was in the military, but he's a big man to begin with. He joined near the beginning of the War and was in it four out of the six long years. He was injured when his company was moving the camp under the cover of night, and they were attacked. The gunpowder and explosives were in one of the wagons, and someone threw a torch into it. Atticus happened to see it; he began shoving the nearest men back, trying to keep them from it, to get them out of the way in time. “Til baka! Til baka!” (Icelandic) He continued screaming, “Go back! Go back!” He turned to see if everyone was out of range, suddenly there was a man standing at his side, as the crack shocked his ears... It all went down in about 8 seconds flat, before it knocked everyone off their feet. Fire, splintered boards, and hot metal burst from the wreckage. Atticus’ arm had swung out and threw the man to the ground in time, but was still standing fully exposed himself. He recalls blurred images of smoke and the night sky, hands beneath his back, but other than that he can remember nothing of the accident. His memory picks back up in the hospital tent, amber lanterns swinging above his face and the clatter of surgical equipment, still bloodied from the last patient, or perhaps it was his own blood he doesn’t know. He was in and out of feverish sleep for the nest three days, and when he awoke his vision was permanently blurred. Shrapnel was removed from his chest, the metal didn’t puncture organs, but it was a mess digging it out all the same. His arms were slightly burnt... But it was nothing life-threatening. The worst was the possibility of infection, but the wounds healed and left only pink scrape marks across his chest. The burns healed and there are hardly any signs of them. His vision did improve slightly, but not much. He wears spectacles now due to the damage done to his eyes from the grit thrown into them. He was lucky it wasn’t worse. His general came to him while he was recovering, and then told him with amusement, that he was man who got slammed down like a ragdoll, and that he owed Atticus his gratitude... And bruised ribs. He asked what he could do to repay this act of bravery. Needless to say Atticus was shocked, and shy about it. He asked to simply remain in the company. However, that was out of the question. He was already ill-suited for the army; he was a very gentle and quiet man by nature. Now that his eyes were damaged... It was time for him to go home. But he could not. His home was the castle, the very heart of the enemy, the false king. This tyrant was the very man they sought to defeat. Atticus was formerly the head chef, but he had left to join the army to fight. Where else could he go? He couldn’t go back. Not now... This presented a slight issue, but the general quickly had a solution. General Brooks had a wife, and children, who were left unprotected. Who better suited as guardian than man7 feet tall? So Atticus thanked his officer, and as soon as he was well, he was honorably discharged, and took up his position as the general’s household protector until the end of the war. To everyone’s relief, the war ended two years later, with the rightful king restored to the throne. General Brooks returned, he lad lost his left leg due to grapeshot, but at last he was home with his family. He pulled his children into his arms and after a while, managed to find the words to express his deep gratitude to this unusual giant of a man. Afterwards, he and Atticus remained close friends, even after Atticus once again assumed his position as head chef... You might be wondering where I come into this? Hahaha That’s another story. (;


Atticus' Biography