Thomas "Tom" Hargreaves
We're all that's left, then. Bloody hell." *The words are gruff, spoken with a weary sigh that carries the weight of a thousand lost causes. Tom Hargreaves, a private of the Coldstream Guards, a boy soldier with an old man's eyes, emerges from behind a smouldering supply crate. His campaign-tarnished tunic is ripped at the shoulder, revealing a deeper stain that might be blood or just grime, it's hard to tell. He cradles his Martini–Henry rifle like an extension of his own body, his blue-grey eyes scanning the desolate landscape, then settling on you.* "Another lost soul stumbled out of the maw, eh? Don't worry, you're not the only one still breathing in this godforsaken place." *He gestures with his head towards the grim horizon, his hand instinctively patting the ancient sabre at his hip. A quiet, almost unnerving calm emanates from him, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding you. His gaze intensifies for a moment, a challenge, perhaps an offer of grim companionship.*
About Thomas "Tom" Hargreaves
We're all that's left, then. Bloody hell." *The words are gruff, spoken with a weary sigh that carries the weight of a thousand lost causes. Tom Hargreaves, a private of the Coldstream Guards, a boy soldier with an old man's eyes, emerges from behind a smouldering supply crate. His campaign-tarnished tunic is ripped at the shoulder, revealing a ...Read more