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The young man from Uruk tells his long tale (1747 BC - 1998 AD)

I was born in 1747 BC in Uruk in what is modern day Iraq. One day at 23 years old my father, you all would call the man a stepfather, but we did not do that in those days, decided I was not working hard enough and ordered me to fetch water from the well. Someone attacked me I assume it was my older brother we was nicknamed “Goat Lover,” of obvious reasons. It went to far and I died, the man in his infinate wisdom through me into a well. I would like to say six weeks passed before I got out of that thing, but to be honest one quickly learns they are immortal by drowning for six weeks. The cow I called a wife left me for my brother, and my family and town was positive I was some kind of demon returned to destroy the livestock and rape the women.

I wondered for a few years, before being forced into the Assyrian army of King Lullaia. It was in his army however that my immortality made me quite the warrior. It actually took seven long and very enjoyable years before I was seen rising back from the dead. You must understand battles back then where just bodies all over the ground so I always just said I was playing dead before coming back to strike.

What follows in those days seems to all get mixed up I recall fighting for Egypt, for the great kingdoms of Mesopotamia, being a merchant, even living with a delightful woman, and raising her children when she died. However it was in 12th century that I discovered the wonders of Europe. Athens in its finest hour, was an amazing place, and I with my various trinkets from forgien lands, and skin as pale as milk fit in with the Greeks well.

It was my time in Greece that my love for reading occured, it was also my time in greece which allowed me to read. However the various wars began to bore me and I returned to the middle east around the 10th century. Here I was found myself attached to the Isrealites. I recall meeting the great King Solomon, the creation of Isreal and Judah, yet this too began to bore me. I had tired of marrying pretty girls and faking my death just around the time they started loosing their looks, or gaining wieght.

I then traveled around the ancient world, witnessing the Bronze age until the Persians started taking everything over. I feld towards Italy, and enjoyed playing the part of a temple leader, a begger, and even a thief. I am almost glad being forced to take root in Italy for it allowed me to witness the start of Rome. I will tell you all that any great society that calls itself an Empire has never seen Rome.

I believed in Rome, I believed that Jupiter watched over me and gave me eternal life. Following generals, and living eight generations as the Fendal family in a nice villa working the fields and seeing to my crops. I fought the Spaniards, the Franks, and even had a go at the Britons. I enjoyed it all, a nice big battle then coming back to the villages to steal everything I could.

After a while I was forced to go to Judea at the orders of Tiberius. Now the problem here was, well I defend my actions as those who fight any cult which orders the destruction of ones nation, yet at the same time as I grow older I must confess I that I gave Jesus of Nazareth a mercy stab to the side. How many would speak of the spear of destiny, or the wandering Roman if they knew it was simply a lone soldier who did not want to see the man upon the cross suffer as he did. Do not get me wrong, I was not a christian until the Roman state forced me to be one, but seeing a man suffer has always affected me.

I was sad to see Rome fall in the 5th century. Yet as it fell I found myself wandering the world once more. No longer the deserts of the middle east, and Egypt, but the forrests and mountains of Europe. The Dark Ages seem to be a blur of drunkness, battles, and a small period of two to five years years in which I was forced to dig myself out of a cave in around the Alps of Austria.

In 1168 I fought under the banner of King Valdemar, and killed the pagans hordes before me. During this time I found a nice band of Dannish mercenary's which traveled Europe and offered their services to whom ever paid them. Soon we found ourselves taking part in the Third Crusade, I expected it to be typical, but as my luck would have it the Knights Templar discovered my unique ability not to die, and I spent a few weeks having them try to kill me. Once more I fled from such things, and looked for a place to hide.

I discovered the perfect place for a man running from warfare, and the prying eyes of the Templars was in the newly created Swiss Confederation. I took part as a student, a scholar, a priest, a enigineer, and oddly enough for two weeks the main assistant to the Swiss faction of the Templar Knights banking system.

By the time the 15th century began I was finding the ability to blend in easy. I spoke various languages, knew the right costumes, and more importantly I had that look of a soon to be refined son of a some wealthy family. In France I took the name Fenwick, and it has stayed with me ever since. No longer was I happy being the soldier, I was enjoying my time as an educated man. I taught the children of nobles, I lectured to scholars of what Roman paintings looked like, I spoke to priests on the finer points of Latin. It was trully a wonderful time to be in France as educated, and science slowly made their way out from the dark ages.

The 16th century saw the death of Roger Fenwick in France, and the arrival of Roger Fenwick III in Florence. Perhaps the largest influence upon me in those days was Niccolo Machiavelli. I was but a humble student eager to learn, and he a diplomat, political philosopher, musician, poet, and playwright at the hieght of the Italian Renaissance and eager to teach. However our relationship soured when a series of conversations on how to effectivly rule, which I based on my years of living in every kind of kingdom possible, was turned into a book. This book of course was The Prince. “It is better to be both loved and feared?” That was me.

In the 1700's following a series of rather foolish drunken brawls, and duels over the honor of a few young ladies, and a few more of their mothers I was forced to flee the social circles of Florence and seek life somewhere else. Still having a name with a noble history, and the papers to back it up I traveled to England. To be honest England in the 17th century was acceptable, but hardly insprising of greater words. However here I took part in a war for the first time in almost two centuries. Anglo-Dutch Wars showed me how things had avanced, yet also how war had taken on a rather sporting aspect to it. I enjoyed it, for here was the first time I was given command of troops. I enjoyed it so much I made sure to make a name for myself when I, as James Fenwick, died in a vialant struggle saving the captain from his ship in 1666. I reappeared as Alexander Fenwick in 1688 and helped fight for the Monarchy in the Glorious Revolution. As a reward I was offered land in the colonies of America.

In 1692 during the Salem Witch trials I was a Magistrate for colonial Massachusetts. I must tell that being a voice of reason in a room where invisible yellow birds are seen as proof, is a very hard thing to do. I decided to return to my task as the wealthy son of anoble family, being a scholar passed my mind, but in truth nothing really seemed to be outstanding in puritian New England.

I avioded the French and Indian wars, as well as stayed out of the American Revolutionary war. I freely admit that I wish the British had won, the Americans for all their talk of freedom and democracy in reality just wanted to decide what kind of taxes they had over them.

The 19th century I must say is one of my better times. I moved across the nation, and enjoyed the sights and sounds of the marvelous unspoiled land before me. I fought in the St. Patricks Brigade for Mexico in the Mexican-Ameircan war, only to flew back to Virginia and try my hand at raising cotton. I sided with the CSA, and fought in the Army of Northern Virginia until 1863, when getting shot became annoying. I switched to the American side as George the cousin of Stephen Fenwick. After taking a train out west I took a job as a sheriff in a small town in Dakatoa territory. I was that oddly youthful man wandeirng the few towns, and fightign bandits, back robbers, and also privatly dealing with the occasional horse thief.

During the Spanish-American war I had the grand duty of drilling in New Orleans, and never getting to Cuba. I was ready to go, for although the weapons of war had reached an amazing level, getting shot was not as annoying as a stab. Of course as I favored my CSA cavalry saber, slashing at an enemy was fun.

WWI I was part of the anti-war movement, wanting to stay out of European affiars, and more importantly to keep my new homeland pure, such matters ended with me in a jail cell for speaking out against the government. After the horror stories of the war came out, I turned inward. After writing a few short stories of soldiers long since gone, and the emotional impact I found myself in the “Lost Generation” of writers during the 1920's.

Long nights of fine wine, and loud jazz was intermixed with the conversation of where society went wrong. I was Leonard J. Fenwick, the old soul in a young man's shoes as Fitzgerald put it. I enjoyed being with them, but soon found myself uninterested in the sad tales of why society was ill and needed to be fixed. So in proper fashion for a writer I faked leaping off a bridge, leaving a suicide note of lost love, ashamed family, and my brilliance not understood, typical writer crap.

In the 30's I was caught off guard by the Great Depression, but selling a few pieces of my estate in New England got me all the spending money I needed. While I felt for the men and women who lost their jobs, my long history taught me to side with the landed elites. Once more with the clouds of war hovering over the skies I joined the anti-war movement. In fact I went over various details of Roosevelt's plan to pull America into a war with Lindy before he spoke to the large crowds of America First members.

My beliefs changed on December 7th. I signed up, and I went to the Pacific. Sadly enough John K. Fenwick died in action on Okinawa saving three of his squad mates from enemy machine gun fire. After I was declared dead on that island I planned to hide in some cave and steal a dead man's tags and get back into the fight. However as I seem to have a habit of doing I was in a cave in. From 1945 to 1950 I had to dig myself out of the place, by hand, for over sixty feet. If I had air it may have taken less time, but I kept dying every ten or twelve minutes. At one point I simply laid back and accepted it, but that got old rather fast. Just my luck of course I get out of a cave just in time to be pulled into the Korean War. I was smart however, and made sure to get my hands on a a job at a newspaper, thanks to a long forgotten 12% investment in 1893. I took stories, and ran about Korea seeing just how far war had gotten.

Back home I was done with war. I went to college, and I enjoyed myself. I spoke of peace, and saving everyone's life. I enjoyed the life of a college student, pretty girls, easy work, and noone expected anything from you. I went to a highschool to fake a senior year, then went to whatever college I could from 1955 to 1966. As Vietnam got on I became a Hippie, not I was more then a Hippie. I road around in a bus with Ken Kaesy, Tom Wolfe, and the Merry Pranksters spreading the wonderful word of the electric kool-aid acid test.

In the 70's, god help me, I was a Disco dancing coke dealer, who party in Club 54, and searched for the Son of Sam in the day time. Anything to take my mind of the fact that I had done everything.

Around the 1980's I discovered punk rock, and moshed in clubs, before being a bass player for the band Angry Snarlin' Youth. I was the feature article of Rolling Stone magizine. Some reporter found out that I was apparantly the wealthy last son of a long line of important Americans all the way to Salem Witch trials. I really wish I killed that woman, cause soon after the article police start looking into where the parents of Howard Fenwick were, as they suddenly disappeared the day, I went around the world on a jet.

I hid out for awhile, and then showed up again in 1998 as a California businessman, who at the age of 23 created his own software company from ther ground up. Now I enjoy the life of the wealthy once more, no doubt my mood will change, and I will tire of this life, as I have done so often before.

Aneirin and Fenwick about the faux pas in their first meeting with each other during the Anglo-Dutch War

Aneirin: Well, I was born in AD 984, in a small village in what you now call Wales. I don't remember where, it was so long ago. I was trained to be a cavalryman, and sold my sword. I fought many battles all across Europe, and I can barely remember a single one of them. After a long time of fighting, I hung my sword on the wall, and went west. I loved many, but packed it to much to be married for more than ten years. It's a lot of fun meeting your descendants, but they all bring back tear choked memories.

Fenwick: Hey I think I shot at you in the Anglo-Dutch war ! How have you been man ?

Aneirin: That was you !?!?!??!?! God, that hurt like a bitch ! Pretty well, thanks.

Fenwick: Well you did throw a torch in my face, also do recall it was either I take the floating piece of driftwood in the sea, or drown and wait till I wash ashore. Plus its not like you where not reaching for knife yourself.

Fenwick about his combat experiences

I've tasted the steel of:

Egyptian
Persian
Athenian
Frank
Templar
French
Italian
Dutch
English
Confederate
Union
Japanese

Plus, oddly enough, a New York club kid in '96 who had a katana in his car.

Fenwick about learning languages

I liked learning Esperanto from Ken Keasy and a massive yellow toad sitting next to the Grateful Dead as I was high off my mind. I let loose a stream of my life, and convinced the yellow toad to fly away on a pink Zebra to the never ending isle of love and earthly delights.

I must admit I have never gone out of my way to learn a language. I either just picked it up, or I'd wander into regions until people understood me. Something I enjoy to this day is finding those odd fellows who speak dead languages or dialects and talking to them. I recall one fellow was speaking Persian, with a distinct Egyptian under tone, and I got this flood of images from those days.

I recommend this to many for it gives a certain push down ones memory that every so often we immortals need to remeber where we came from.

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Current Pseudonym: Fenwick (occassionally (“Fenwick of Uruk”)
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