Gregorios (473-518 AD)

I was born in Constantinople on 26 December, 473 AD. I was the offspring of two Celts, sold into slavery. I never met my real father. I was lucky though. My mother served as a handmaiden to the empress Ariadne, so I came into the employ of Emperor Zeno when I came of age. By the time I was 15, it was apparent that I had a very good grasp of languages, and could learn them quickly. I served him faithfully, until his death in 491, when I was 17. I went on to serve Emperor Anastasius I in the same capacity, and he actually went on to free me. I eventually became an ambassador for him. I travelled all over Europe, representing the one beacon of order in a time of chaos after the Western Roman Empire fell. During this time, I was known as Gregorios. In 518, Anastasius died. I was 45, but still looked only 19. I thought I just came from good stock, but the nobles thought otherwise. I was banished from court on the charges of witchcraft and heresy. I wandered the empire for years, taking whatever work I could. Eventually, I decided that if I was going to get anywhere, I would have to take on a new identity. I became Alexios, a trader recently come back from a voyage to Persia.

Alexios (518-530 AD)

I remained under the guise of Alexios for a good many years. I took a wife and fathered children under that guise. I traversed the entire Silk Road many times. I became known as the best merchant in Constantinople for goods from the Orient. My older son, Leo, eventually became a trader himself, sailing all around the Black Sea, or so they tell me. On one occasion, the emperor hired me personally to lead a tradee envoy to Kent. I think that was the year 530. In any case, we ran into a storm off the French coast, in the Channel. All the ships sank; no one survived. Save me. I shouldn't have survived either, but I did. I woke up on a beach, near some white cliffs. I didn't recognize them, but I guessed that I was in either England or France. I had been at court once or twice with Anglo-Saxons as Gregorios, and never with the French. However, I decided there was little to no chance of me getting back to Constantinople. So, I used this ordeal to create another new identity. The answer came to me, when I met the first people in this new land. They asked me my name in Anglo-Saxon, and I answered: Redwald.

Redwald (530-568 AD)

By then end of the time that I posed as Redwald, I was really starting to push it. Even in the 550s, I was attracting looks. They just kept thinking I should look older. But it wasn't until 568 that they decided that I was a witch. Those 38 years, though, were some of the best of my life though. I took another wife after a few years, but I had to seriously reconcile myself with God before doing so. I was, after all, one of the few practicing Christians in Britain at the time. After a while, I felt that God had forgiven me, however. I had three sons and two daughters. I still remember Breguswið's smiling face on her wedding day. It pains me to think of it, though. To think she's been dead for over 1400 years now… But I must not dwell on it. I worked as a farmer during those years, and did well for myself. But I missed Constantinople. It was my home city, after all. I had spent over 50 years there. But, there was no way a farmer could make his way back there, unless I was met with some great fortune, but God did not see it as necessary at the time. Instead, He decided to show me who I really was, and told the government officials of Kent about me. In 567, they arrested me for witchcraft. The following year, They burned me at the stake. But, my flesh would not burn. So they decided to hang me. The rope broke. They decided to slit my throat. It healed immediately. They tried to draw and quarter me. The horses wouldn't move. Finally they tried running me through. The wound healed immediately. So, they banished me. I spent the next 20 years wandering the countryside, making my living as a hired worker for no more than a season. If ever they asked for my name, I just reverted to using Gregorios. For all that anyone knew, he had died decades before. Eventually, I had saved up enough to make my way into France. I worked my way through that country, until I reached Italy in 612. In Ravenna, I heard a language I hadn't heard in nearly a century: Byzantine Greek! I was overjoyed, and immediately found a job on a ship bound for Constantinople. I disembarked there, and offered my services as interpreter at court. This time, I used a new name, as rumours were still circulating about Gregorios. This time, I was: Demitrios.

Demitrios (613-645 AD)

Being Demitrios was absolute paradise. I was back in Constantinople, back in my element. I had forgotten how much I loved being Gregorios, serving as the emperor's right-hand man for all those years. But that was a century ago, and things had changed at court. We were no longer a local power like wer once were. Now, now we controlled a huge chunk of the Mediterranean. I felt that, with my help, we would finally be able to revive the Roman Empire. I reveled in this time. I took another wife, and had more children. I even met some of my descendants. My fifth-great-grandson, Damian, came to work at court. He worked right under me. But, it was hard for me. He reminded me so much of Leo, and it saddened me to think of my first son, my favourite son, having died so many years ago, never knowing what happened to his father. It was right around that time that the Lombards resumed their push into Italy, and I saw that this would signal the end of our holdings in Italy. The Persians also stated knocking at our eastern door. I volunteered to help settle peace on our frontiers, and the emperor agreed. I went first to Lombardy, and negotiated a peace that allowed us to keep everything we held in Italy south of a line between Ravenna and Florence. And that line held for about 100 years, until Ravenna fell, but that's another story. I journeyed all around the frontiers of the empire, negotiating peace with all our neighbours. It went well, that is, until I reached the Sassanid Empire. They refused peace with us, and had me thrown to the lions. They sent word along that I had been killed, so that meant I couldn't return to Byzantium. I wandered for what seemed loke an eternity, before I finally ended up in Iberia. There, I fought my first ever war.

Alaric (704-718 AD)

Alaric was probably the shortest lifespan I ever had. Having arrived in Iberia, I found myself in the middle of a vast kingdom, that reminded me quite a bit of the Byzantium into which I had been born. I set myself up in Basconia as a farmer. But this pastoral life was not to last. Just as I was ready to take a wife again, the drums of war sounded. Now, I have always been a pacifist at heart, but I was recruited to fight in the war against the invading Moors. For seven years, I fought for the Visigoths, and for my home. It ended abruptly, however, when I took a spear point to the heartat Septimania. I died for the first time. I lay on the battlefield for what seemed to be centuries, but in reality was probably about six months. I still remember that moment when I revived. I believe it was exactly on my 245th birthday. I drew a sharp breath, and panted heavily for a good half hour. It was almost as if I had just resurfaced from having been underwater for a long time, and my lungs were burning for air. I sat up, and saw that my wound had healed. I had no idea who had won the battle, or what country I was now in. All I knew is I had to get away from this battlefield. I headed north, and didn't stop until I came to the English Channel. I adopted a new identity again. This time I became Sigiric.

I still have my suit of armour from that war at home.

Sigiric (721-740 AD)

Sigiric was an interesting character. Having been scarred by my recent experiences in the war and having died for the first time, I became an alcoholic. I spent more time in local pubs than at home with my wife and children. And I discovered the gift I had for words, and composed what I thought were great poems. I think one of them might've become the basis for Beowulf. They all say it was written in England, but it was an Anglo-Saxon drinking buddy I had in 725 who stole it off me when he wrote down my drunken rantings. Eventually, though, I began to see the error of my ways, and turned back to God, and to my family. But it was a hard habit to break. Eventually, in 740, I suffered a complete relapse. I went to the pub, and drank more than I ever had before. I staggered out of the pub that night, completely drunk, and suffering from severe alcohol poisoning. I ended up passing out in the street, and choking to death on my own vomit. I revived later on, completely ashamed of what I had done, and what I had become. I needed to leave as soon as I could. I went far to the east, walking for decades, until I came upon an old familiar road: the Silk Road. I walked to the very end, and started up a new life in Imperial China.

Jian Zhuang (762-785 AD)

I arrived in China in the summer of 762, right as the emperor died. I used the ensuing chaos to my advantage, and established myself as a trader and interpreter in Chang'an. I took on a new name, and tried my best to blend in among the Chinese. Definitely not an easy task, having been the offspring of two Celts. The only thing I really changed, however, was to dye my hair. After all, how many Chinese people do you know with naturally flaming red hair? Eventually, I saved up enough money to buy an estate outside the city. There, I took a wife, and had several children by her. I lived contentedly with her there, until one day Emperor Dezong decided to subdue the renegades in the frontier provinces. Messangers rode throughout the city, and out into the country. They conscripted my sons. After they had been gone for six months, I became worried, and took off after them. I finally found them, killed in a skirmish near Silla. Overcome with grief, I fled the empire, heading far to the north. I wandered Siberia for years, sometimes not seeing anyone else for over a year, with only my horse for company, until he died in 790. A few more years passed. Eventually I found myself among the Yakuts.

Dülei (798-841 AD)

I found myself in the midst of a Yakut tribe after all my wandering. I was unconscious when they found me. I think they were very surprised to see that I woke up later in their camp. After all, this was the middle of the winter, and they found me half-frozen and naked as my clothes had torn themselves to shreds. But, they accepted me into their tribe. They called me Dülei, meaning “deaf.” For the first three months or so, I kept my mouth shut, as I had no idea what any of them were saying. They thought, however, that I couldn't hear them. After three months, however, I began spitting their language back to them, with a perfect accent and everything. They thought it was a miracle. But my name stuck. Eventually, however, I took another wife. I had several children with her. And the best part was I was able to stick around and watch them grow up, and meet some of my grandchildren. Even though I retained my youth, I was able to maintain my position in the tribe for years. Years turned into decades, and I became a tribal elder. I had a wonderful time there. But, something called to me from the West. Something was telling me to return to Europe. Eventually, I decided to heed the call. I bid goodbye to my family, and began walking far to the southwest. Eventually I ended up back where I started: Constantinople.

Leo (854-879 AD)

I reached Constantinople finally after many years of wandering. I had noticed it had changed quite a bit since I had been there last. It was no longer the bustling centre of a great empire, but rather a more consolidated and sober realm. With the Muslims nearly knocking at their door, everyone was on edge. It just wasn't the same. But it was home nonetheless. I signed onto a dromon, the first time I ever was in the navy. I spent 3 years patrolling the Aegean, until the emperor died. Then we were called back to Constantinople. The city had completely changed by then. It was an exciting time to be there. We were expanding again, and I began to see the cosmopolitan sense of the city that I had been used to. I took another wife, and had more children. My eldest son, Gregorios, inherited my talent for languages. Apparently he became an advisor to the emperor. But, soon, I felt it was time to move on. I was starting to get those looks again. I packed up a few things, and disappeared one night. I told my wife that I had been called back into the navy, and that we were embarking on a dangerous campaign. Then, I left the empire once again. I headed west. I had heard about a New Roman Empire, under the Franks, and I was intrigued. But what I found wasn't what I expected.

Francois (879-903 AD)

I arrived in Paris, hoping to find the renaissance of thought that everyone had been talking about happening in my 140-year absense. But such was not the case. Instead, I found a fractured people, a suffering people. But that wasn't the half of it. In 885, we came under direct attack by the Vikings. I volunteered my services in defending the city, and I was conscripted as one of only 200 men-at-arms. Against 30,000. I thought for sure I was done for, but apparently God still loved me. Eventually, we were able to break the siege the following year, and things returned to normal, relatively speaking. There was no renaissance, but I had been accepted as a member of the Parisian community. I married and had children, and very much enjoyed my new life here. However, the tumultuous times returned. By 903, I could no longer stay there. I faked my death, and fled to the north, to England.

Adwulf (905-941 AD)

I really liked Adwulf. He was such a peaceable character. He is among the favourite lives I've ever led. A simple pastoral farmer in Wessex. I took a wife at a young age as him, and had fifteen children. And the best part was I got to watch many of them grow up, and have children of their own. By the time I had to leave, I had 40 grandchildren, all loving of their dear young grandfather. But there came a time even there that people started staring at me. They were not only afraid, I think, but also they were starting to show a new emotion towards me: jealousy. They were jealous of me! I can't think why, what with my rootless existence, measuring my life in centuries rather than years? Everyone I ever cared about lying in a grave somewhere? What was there to envy? But the jealousy turned to rage. One night, they burst into my cabin. They raped and killed my wife. Then they came after me. They tried to burn me, but I wouldn't burn. They tried stabbing me, but it didn't work. They tried all sorts of tortuous methods of killing me. Finally, however, they decided to drown me in the nearby river. I still remember thrashing around as they held me under. Then, it all just stopped. I had died again. I don't know how long it was before I revived, but I found myself in a strange place, with natives speaking a strange language, yet somehow familiar. And also, almost all of them were like me: They all had flaming red hair. I had drifted ashore in Ireland.

Sean (941-979 AD)

Ireland was a refreshing place to live in, as long as you avoided the battlegrounds in the middle of the island. I stayed close to the shore, but eventually found myself in the west of the country. There, I met up with, and eventually joined, the clan O Dubhda. They were a great maritime power at the time, controlling trade routes all up and down the Atlantic coast. Eventually, the chieftan decided to marry me off to a lovely woman, whom I loved immensely. I had several children with her. Under the clan O Dubhda, I became a sailor along the Irish coasts. This meant that I was away from home quite often. This made it very convenient for me to slip away when it was time, which happened about 30 years after I reached the clan O Dubhda. I was off the coast of Dublin at the time, and a large storm came in, and in the confusion, I threw myself overboard, and pretended to drown. I swam away from the coast, and towards Britain once again. I swam for what must have been at least 2 weeks, drifting in the currents, but doing my best to keep a constant easterly direction. I eventually reached land, though, in Wales.

Cadoc (979-993 AD)

I came ashore in Britain, but it was in a country speaking a strange language. It took some time for me to pick it up, but I eventually did. By 980, I was able to get a respectable plave in a village near the sea. I took another wife, and set myself up on a farm. I had several children, including one son I recently learned was an immortal like his father. It was a good life that I led there. However, I was called away while my children were still young. I ended up being conscripted into the army, to defend my home against the invading Anglo-Saxons. Eventually, however, I went to battle near Cardiff. For seven days, we went back and forth with the Saxons, but on the eighth day, we were forced to retreat into the city. We were besieged for months, until they brought in reinforcements, and took the city. I did my best to hold them off from the castle that dominated the city at the time, but I was killed from burns suffered from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The castle's guards dumped motlen lead on the invading Saxons, and I happened to be in their midst at that moment. I revived much later, with all my clothes burned off. Even my armour had melted away. I wandered for several years, that is, after finding some clothes. Eventually, I decided to go back to see my home again. There wasn't much left of it. It was burned to the ground. However, my secret chest was left intact. In it, I found remnants of my past lives. But I had none to put in for this life. I despaired over that fact, but I took the chest along with me. I had enough money in there to get me started in a new life, wherever I went from here. I decided to go to the north, to the land of the Vikings.

James Smith (1687-1715 AD)

My first view of Boston was coming up the Neck on my horse, Constantine. It was a village compared to my birth city. But nonetheless, it seemed a good place. I bought a house near Mills Pond in the north of the city. And I also heard of a college that had been founded 50 years prior to my arrival. I applied to teach there. They asked me what my specialty was, and I told them I knew many different languages, both living and dead. They asked for a demonstration, and I immediately switched to speaking Byzantine Greek without thinking twice. The interviewer was so impressed, he gave me a job there immediately. So, I took over all language studies at Harvard University. And through there, I learned even more languages from my studies, especially in Latin and Aramaic. I loved it there. It was one of the easiest lives I had had to date. I married soon after, and created a nice little life for myself. I had 14 children over the course of my life there, several of whom I ended up having in classes at Harvard. I loved it there. But time went on, and people started giving me looks again. So, I booked passage on a ship bound for Europe, saying I was going on sabbatical. However, I faked my death in a storm during the crossing. And I had to swim all the way back to England.