Name:
Gattuso
Age:
Late-thirties
Sex:
Male
Race:
Imperial
Position:
Recruit/Enlisted (preferably on hold for a while, stumbles across the camp or camp stumbles across him)
Birthplace:
Imperial City
Current Residence:
Riverwood
Alliances or Affiliations:
ex-Imperial Army, ex-Thieves Guild, no current affiliations
Occupation:
4E191-196 Imperial scout/assassin 196-203 on the run, part time bounty hunter and thief 203> injured, worked as a wood-cutter for last couple of years after spending the money he’d saved
Appearance:
In his prime, Gattuso is my avatar picture (without the Nightingale Armour, in this case). Standing at an out-of-shape 5’10”, his icy-blue eyes are framed by greasy black hair kept off his face by a simple Alice band, and a scraggly beard, with the occasional grey starting to creep in. His tan has begun to fade as his skin weathers, and he walks with a slight limp after an incident a few years ago.
In terms of armour, all he has now is a curiass of worn leather and rusty chainmail he'd had fitted when he started making money as a bounty hunter, some sturdy leather boots, and some thick fur gloves
Personality:
At his best, Gattuso is creative, intelligent, adaptable, friendly, good-humoured and trustworthy. At his worst however, he can be mysterious, paranoid, deceitful, calculating, selfish when he has no need of others, and extremely cold and violent when angered.
Instead of being a leader, Gattuso uses his creativity and intelligence to make things more advantageous for himself, whether that is to help a group’s interest to satisfy his own, or disrupt others if he sees fit. He has a tendency to draw people in with his affluent-looking smile and charming Imperial looks and personality, before using them as pawns and assets to be managed and influenced.
Gattuso enjoys his own space, and dislikes his privacy being broken. Those which he feels are becoming intrusive can quickly become aware of their error, although he generally attempts to keep up a cool persona to others.
He also likes a bottle of mead with the few he does trust, although those are few and far between, especially these days since the demise of the Thieves Guild and his travels across the province. One of the only people he has really gelled with in a long time is Wilhelm, the innkeeper at Ivarstead. He’s simple enough, but that makes him easy to deal with.
Being paranoid at times, Gattuso takes a particular dislike to some people, especially Elves, or even more precisely, Altmer. Of the twelve Altmer Gattuso has ever met, seven have tried to take his life. Those aren’t good odds. As a result, Mer as a whole have a special place in Gattuso’s considerations, and he is generally quite distrustful of them. Another reason Gattuso has a problem with Elves is his distrust of magic. The concept of others being able to wield magic makes them unpredictable to Gattuso, which makes them dangerous. Every Altmer which has made an attempt on his life has done so with a storm of lightning bolts or fireballs, and some of Gattuso’s most dangerous assignments with the Legion involved sorcerers or necromancers. At least an Orc with a warhammer is predictable.
In terms of skills, Gattuso could do it all. In the past, he was one of the finest archers in the Legion’s ranks, and could go blade to blade with any Praefect. At 5’10”, he’s tall for an Imperial, but his active childhood had granted him a slim and muscular physique during early adulthood, and he was nimble and lithe, perfect for his duties with the Legion, and just as useful during his time as a bounty hunter and thief.
That, however, was years ago. Gattuso is no longer the man who could string a bow and loose and arrow in less than a second, or the man who could roll behind a bandit and slit his throat without disturbing the grass. These days he is slow, bulkier than he should be and still carrying the scars and aches of his injuries in Riften. His hair is unkempt and greasy, and his beard is longer than it was when he actually cared about his appearance. Right now, his only real skills are chopping wood for a couple of hours a day and cooking watery vegetable soup when there’s enough ingredients to make it.
History:
Gattuso was born under a different name, in the Imperial City almost forty years ago. His parents were affluent, influential and well-respected; his father being a Legate in the Imperial Army, and his mother working as a seamstress. The mysterious Imperial now named Gattuso was left with nannies and cleaners much of the time, while his parents attended fine dinners and the like. As soon as Gattuso was old enough to evade the sight of his warden, he did just that, slinking into the city streets, and into the darkness to explore.
Before long, Gattuso had fallen into what many would consider a bad crowd. He was led by those older and stronger than he, those from a different world of poverty and bad luck. He was intimidated at first, but his sense of danger piqued his interest and he returned, time and time again, no matter how harsh the scolding from his parents. Before long he was not only a member of this little troupe, he was their leader. His understanding of influence and power belied his young age, and his real name became one synonymous with the young thieves and vagabonds of the night. His quiet, dark personality was backed up by a fierce desire for respect and influence, and it showed in the power he had over the other youngsters. He was rarely seen by the other members of the gang, but his presence was always felt, and he was often responsible for pickpocketing nobles or pilfering expensive trinkets from locked market stalls. The jobs got riskier, more audacious, until it was time for Gattuso’s ultimate test of his own ability. His skill had been challenged by one of the others, and it was a matter of honour that he did the job, regardless of the beating the poor boy had already received at the hands of others, on Gattuso’s word of course.
The night had been dark, and the streets quiet, but not enough. Gattuso was caught that night, by none other than his father’s superior. He’d heard all about an elusive youngster, orchestrating many of the city’s petty crime and such like, but he’d never expected the dastardly little criminals to steal from a soldier. Gattuso had managed to get halfway out of the window before he’d been spotted, but it was too late for him to react, the fall was too great to simply throw himself out, and so he was caught. What came next, though, was even more unexpected.
Gattuso expected to be paraded in the square for a week, and locked away in his parents’ house until he was kicked out as an adult, but this was far from the events of that night. Instead, the soldier hauled him back into the house, stuffed him into a sack, and marched out into the city. When he was eventually cut out of the sack, in a manner a little more dramatic and heavy-handed than necessary, he barely recognised his surroundings. But recognise them he did, he was in the practice area, for the Imperial Archers.
“Well boy, you wanted this bow so much, let’s see if you can use it”
The voice was softer than he’d anticipated, yet the sharp point of the sword on his ribs made the situation a little more intimidating. Regardless, he ignored the blade tip and retrieved an arrow from the ground. He fed the arrow into the bow deftly after quickly stretching his arms and back, and pulled the string hard. He closed his right eye, being left-handed, and steadied his feet as he breathed deeply and set his target...
Gattuso had been described as somewhat of a protégé, learning from some of the best archers and scouts in the Imperial Army. He was part of a small group of the most skilled, but flawed soldiers, who were sent to the most dangerous areas as scouts, or to deal with troublesome individuals or groups silently and secretly. They were seen as collateral, men with the skills to lead, but without the honest and noble personalities to match. Despite the danger and secrecy, many would say he had it all, skills, money, work, women, but it wasn’t enough. After a few months of careful whispers and observance, Gattuso and a small band of his fellow soldiers started skimming supplies and weapons from Imperial shipments. It started off slow, the odd quiver of arrows here, maybe a shield every now and then, but soon enough people started to notice. The pressure built on those involved until eventually one stepped forward to their commander, and told the whole story, implicating Gattuso almost entirely for his involvement.
Before the call for his capture rang out, Gattuso had snatched a horse and enough food to last him a week, which was long enough for him to disappear. He travelled from the edge of Valenwood almost due north to Skyrim. The road had been long, and he traded most of his weapons and armour for civilian clothes and a bed for the night, and crossed the border the next day. He dropped his old life, and his old name, at the border, knowing he was lucky there had been no Thalmor patrols or over-zealous soldiers on duty when he crossed. He knew that he wouldn’t be so lucky in future, he had to start again.
For a full year he fled Imperial bounty hunters, desperately trying to escape his fate, and eventually the Imperial agents and Thalmor Execution Squads stopped looking for him. Only then could he begin to relax, and rebuild his life anew. He took odd-jobs as he travelled, much to his dissatisfaction, but took bounty hunting jobs whenever they were available, revelling in the irony of his life turning on its head. For a couple of years he did this, earning money steadily as he travelled one way across the province, then back again. Eventually though, the pull of the criminal life dragged him to Riften, and he became a member of the Thieves Guild. Never one for taking orders or associating with criminals or skeevers, he mostly stayed out of the Ragged Flagon, instead keeping himself to himself and doing occasional jobs where he saw the opportunity to make extra coin, be it through taking an extra trinket or two, or by picking up a bounty on the outskirts of the city while he was there. This kept up for a while, and Gattuso was comfortable, until the end of the war brought change that few in Skyrim had expected.
At first it was one, then two at once, then four or five. Slowly but surely the Thieves Guild was systematically decimated, members went missing and never returned, rifts formed in the Ratway and the guild eventually tore itself apart. Not one to waste time with sentiment, Gattuso planned an escape to Ivarstead on horseback. Before he escaped however, he almost lost his life.
He’d left things in the guild hideout, personal things and things of use. Letters with useful secrets, trinkets and one or two quivers of arrows, not to mention his Thieves Guild Hood, which he never brought out of the Cistern unless he was on a job. Making the decision to go back almost proved fatal, but he’d felt it necessary, he could leave absolutely no proof of his involvement with the guild. The city was suspiciously quiet as Gattuso entered, even for midnight, but he made hastily to the secret entrance to the Cistern, mindful of his plans to get to Ivarstead before sunrise.
He slinked through the narrow passage by feel, as normal, and found himself thinking about the quality of mead in Ivarstead, but his senses quickly became alert as he peered into the main atrium. A Thalmor Wizard and two Imperial soldiers stood in the middle of the Cistern holding a map presumably taken from Mercer Frey’s cabinet. The other containers all smouldered and were cracking with the heat of magefire; at least nobody else would get their hands on his information. Gattuso turned to leave, and then cursed silently as he remembered that the door he’d partially opened was never oiled, to provide an alarm if anything suspicious was going on. A small part of his mind noticed the irony in thieves making sure a door was noisy, but he pushed the thoughts away with the force of the wind rushing through his air as he sprinted back down the passage.
Running down the passage would normally have been impossible, but the lightning bolts being fired down the narrow crevice lit the walls properly for the first time in centuries. For a second the flashes stopped, and a moment later Gattuso felt the sharp protrusions in the walls he’d avoided dozens of times before as they cut through his right shoulder and calf, followed by the trickle of warm blood down his skin.
Gattuso had made it to Ivarstead, barely. He’d lost a great deal of blood, and his wounds were a mess. Thankfully, a fine woman named Svana had tended his wounds, and nursed him back to health with a mixture of natural medicines and other treatments known to make a man feel better. It was a couple of months before Gattuso could leave the Vilemyr Inn alone, but almost as soon as he could, he did. Gattuso hated being in Svana’s debt, and being silently reminded every day was not something he would live with. As always, he travelled through the night, and arrived at his destination at around midday.
Gattuso and Riverwood didn’t really mix, but living in one of the cities was impractical. Any one of Gattuso’s contacts could have turned him in to the Thalmor in exchange for a few hundred Septims and an empty promise of comparative safety. His only option was to completely disappear and lay low, at least until he was strong again. Riverwood was agreeable enough, for a Nord village, and he knew just enough about a few of the villagers to keep the rest of Riverwood out of his business, and keep him in a steady job of cutting wood at the mill as and when he chose. For almost half a year Gattuso did nothing, he’d amassed enough coin in the few months after the war finished to save some should something drastic happen. Eventually though, when the throbbing in his shoulder had faded somewhat, and the tightness in his calf was bearable, he chopped wood and tended crops like a simple commoner. Gattuso had lived in Riverwood for over three years, and hadn’t fired a bow in nearly four. He scrimped and scraped to live, and suffered alone with his aches and pains. He hated it.
and I did (go me!! jk)
Ok Andante, Uther Pundragon, I've done most of my character's application. It's four pages on MS Word, but I haven't included a RP example like you requested. I'll post what I've got so far, but would you let me know if you'd like to see some specially-written RP? I'd really like the place you're offering up, so I want to maximise my chances, but I don't want to overdo it
Okay y'all, I'm sorry I've not posted in either this OOC or the RP thread in a few, just I've been busy with family lately. I spend a lot of time with them but moreso this time of the year. I do expect to get with Dante very soon and go over the applications we have gotten and hopefully get to posting something. So, we shall endure!
