H. R. Nelson
As someone who has always struggled with finding out who exactly he was, writing is so much more than just putting words on a page. It is allowing myself to truly feel like something worthwhile exists from my efforts. That I do belong.
"It looks like... what is it called, on the med bags?" Fennik asked. Jorten narrowed his eyes at the man. It was a foolish question, but Fennik was a fool. It was both a foolish and typical question—a typical question for a fool to ask. Jorten's frustration ebbed into a sort of snide amusement, as he imagined how much of a fool Fennik was. He was much keener by comparison. It was a comforting thought, but also a fleeting one. Sharing a foxhole with a fool is the opposite of comforting. It was downright tragic, but also typical.
Jaq slowed himself to a jog and turned to face his companion, "Make haste, swordsman," he roared. Lucas looked up to see a row of stained fangs, locked together in a mouth the size of his entire head. It was a smile, if you could believe it. The way the lynax's lion-esq face contorted in the attempt made him look more like a maddened beast than a happy one. It seemed to Lucas that he was always a mixture of both, especially before a fight. The burning pools of gold that were Jaq's eyes bore his bloodlust well. His mane bristled with excitement.
John Wayne vs Joseph Stalin
*Disclaimer, this is partly a work of parody, but is based on the true story of Joseph Stalin's order to have John Wayne killed. No part of this entry is meant as an endorsement of communism or any particular ideology. It just comes across as being one of the most absurd pieces of history I have ever heard. Please enjoy.*