Commodore Robot — Roleplayer Guild

Name: "Colonel" Alexander Beauregard III 
 Gender: Male
 Age: 35
 Faction: The Lost Brigade 
 Deity: Baptist(struggling)
Major Talent; Quite accomplished with pistol and saber
Minor Talents: Horseback riding, well educated
Background: Born to to a wealthy family of the Louisiana planter gentry in 1830, Alexander had a privileged upbringing to say the least. His family owned an expansive sugar plantation which raked in massive profits in the antebellum period and guaranteed great wealth and influence for at least 3 generations of the Beauregard clan. Alexander's father ensured for him a world class education by international tutors from England, France, and beyond. Only the best for the next head of the Beauregard household he said. For his part Alexander was a studious youth who took to education like a catfish to the bayou and to this day speaks fluent French, Greek, and Latin. Alexander enrolled at West Point like his daddy before him and graduated reasonably high in his class. The military education and his well connected family saw him getting a comfortable commission in the Cavalry where he served for the remainder of the antebellum period. When the War Between the States broke out, Alexander was one of many officers who sided with their home states over the national government.
	Throughout the war Alexander was a true poster child of that southern grit and honor, leading many a dashing charge and advance. His meteoric rise could be attributed in equal measures to nepotism, genuine skill, and the sniper's bullet clearing he path for his ascent to the rank of colonel in the Army of Western Louisiana. It was after the Confederate victory at Mansfield that Alexander's conception of the world came crashing down. His cavalry had been given the task of harrying the retreating union army through a thick wood and set upon it with fierce determination. What they found however truly lacked proper definition. What was supposed to be an understrength battalion of Union infantry cut off from the remains of their army turned out instead to be the stuff of only the most twisted nightmares. Men and the remains of men hanging in pieces from the trees, entire platoons flayed and stitched into macabre new forms, but few of these poor souls were dead. They had been warped by something into hideous ghouls, and those things that had warped them still strode among them. Alexander remembered his youth spent down in New Orleans, the stories he heard whispered by slaves and freeman alike about Voodoo, angry spirits and vile curses and a whole measure of devilry, but none of those stories could compare to what he witnessed before him. He made a mistake when he tried to stare directly at one of the Things that walked among the ghoulish soldiers, immediately his mind was overwhelmed by a terrible malevolence, he remembered screaming out the orders to retreat but after that everything was a blur. There was the sound of gunfire, of gnashing teeth, steel meeting flesh, the screams of man and horse, and other sounds that he shudders to even attempt to recall. By the time they had cleared the wood they were no longer a battalion of fine horsemen, they were a ragged group of less than 100, most of whom could barely keep in their saddles. His after action report was a single line of troubled script, "Enemy found in greater strength than expected. Battle was met. Losses severe. Request 2 weeks leave for survivors." 
	Alexander never spoke about the events of the wood again, but they never left him either. He found it hard to sleep at night, the memories of that horrible day replaying forever in his dreams. He became overly paranoid even around his own men, always looking over his shoulder for some unseen threat. With war's end, Alexander had hoped to return home to a quiet life, only to find his plantation burned to the ground, his family left paupers by the ravages of warfare. With nowhere to turn he was extended an offer from a curious individual, somehow word of what had happened in the wood had gotten out and this curious fellow wearing the uniform of the US cavalry had managed to track him down to a cheap inn down in New Orleans. He was told of the Lost Brigade, of their mission, and of things that go bump in the night. He signed on without hesitation, he'd spent long enough running from the monsters of his dreams, maybe it was time they do the running for a change.
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