Name: Gaius Milonem III Race: Imperial Sex: Male Age: 43 Birthsign: The Lord Family Origins: Born to a wealthy family in the Imperial City during Frostfall, 4E165.
Appearance:
It's quite fitting that Gaius looks as he does, considering his career. Standing at an imposing and unusual height (for an Imperial, at least) of 6'3" and weighing a little over 200 pounds, his broad, toned physique makes him look almost more as a wall than a man. His hair is neatly trimmed and fairly long for a soldier, cut in a hard, perfect line where his neck meets his spine, and much shorter in the front, falling in a chocolate-brown cut well over his hard, watery-brown eyes. His nose is aquiline and crooked to the left near the tip, set over a pale, thin mouth and a square jaw that looks like it could be used as an anvil, wrapped up in a combination of beard and mustache just prominent enough to make him look older.
His olive-toned skin is well tanned and leathery from long marches under the sun. That skin wraps a series of muscles that would be the envy of every adolescent boy in the Empire. From his powerful arms and fists that look like they could crush oxen, to his pronounced abdominals, to the calves that feel like bricks covered in a thin layer of skin, and everything in between, this is by far one of Gaius' most pronounced traits. Nothing about this man seems like it could use the descriptor 'small.'
As befits a seasoned campaigner, he is covered in more than his share of scars that range from small nicks in his arms and legs to an enormous, ropy line that stretches from his left shoulder to his right hip and still occasionally gives him trouble. The most notable of his injuries, though, is an unassuming one; a long, razor-thin scar slashing across the belly of his left bicep. While it might look unobtrusive at a glance, it becomes more significant when you watch him try to extend that arm. It is entirely unable to straighten past a certain point. It locks up upon reaching approximately a 130° angle.
When not otherwise occupied, he tends to dress in light, loose-fitting clothing, preferring tunics, in dark, regal colors. His personal favorite is a dark burgundy tunic worn underneath a rich, deep brown jerkin of soft, supple leather. When he's not at home, however, he tends to wear his armor most of the time. He cuts an imposing figure, to be sure; thick, solid plates of gilded steel forged in the Imperial style by some of the best smiths the Empire has to offer, complete with steel embossing and a full-face helmet.
Equipment:
- A gorgeously-worked heavy shield of Dwemer make that's been passed down the Milonem line for generations, since well before the Oblivion Crisis. It is a shield reverently known as Empire's Aegis in the family, and it is by far the most prized possession that Gaius owns. It has kept him alive through many battles.
- A simple blade made of steel in the Imperial style (similar to his armor). It's nothing special, but it's reliable and it's been his weapon for decades, ever since his first sword broke during an incautiously taken drunken bet with a long-forgotten friend.
- A set of heavy armor. It's largely been described in the prior section, but it's worth mentioning that it's made of steel backed with a layer of scale mail and leather, and weighs quite a lot. Thus, while it affords him a great deal of protection, his movements tend to be slower to start. It was gifted to him after serving with distinction in the Skyrim Civil War. In the center sits a single red stone with a diamond cut It is generally worn above a cloth gambeson for additional protection.
- A keen steel dagger carried in a small sheath on his right thigh, opposite his sword. While impractical for combat, it has saved his life a number of times in emergency situations. More importantly, though, no self-respecting soldier would chop vegetables with his sword. It was made for him by his younger brother Lucius, an apprentice blacksmith, before he left to serve the Legion in Skyrim.
- A stiff leather haversack, as a full-sized backpack is too inconvenient to wear with his armor on. It is highly adjustable based on whether or not he has his armor on, using a system of steel belt buckles and clasps and exceptionally long leather straps. This haversack contains his misc. possessions:
- A small leatherbound journal, along with a quill pen and sealed inkwell kept carefully in a small pocket on the inside against his back
- His enlistment papers into the Imperial Legion, for purely sentimental reasons
- A sdrawstring leather bag filled with enough rations for a conservative week, usually some variety of dried, salted meat and hard bread
- A map of Tamriel, and a map of Skyrim
- A whetstone and oil for his sword
- A large (2 liter) waterskin hanging on the outside, strung there by a long leather cord
- A bedroll kept on the outside of the pack, strapped to the bottom
Family And Associations:
Gaius Milonem II (Deceased) - Father Julia Milonem (Deceased) - Mother Helena Milonem (40 years of age) - Sister, administrative head of the Milonem household Lucius Milonem (39 years of age) - Brother, blacksmith in the Imperial Legion Quintus Iucundus (72 years of age) - Primary combat teacher, and still a very close mentor figure Tolquist - Breton and apprentice to the blacksmith of Castle Dour who taught blacksmithing to Gaius
Favoured Skills:
Highly Proficient:
Block - Since he could lift a shield, Gaius has been training, beginning with mockups made of wood and leather and going through successively stronger and heavier shields. Every time he might've stopped training, arm one giant welt and burning with the fury of a hundred blocked blows, he looked at the Empire's Aegis hanging on the mantelpiece and managed to find the strength within him to continue for just a little longer. He is well-versed in using it as both a defensive tool and an offensive one, and many has been the occasion when he's caught an enemy off-guard with an unexpected skull-rattling bash.
Heavy Armor - You don't wear armor for two decades without learning to move in it. Gaius is an expert in using the momentum given by the heavy steel plates to his advantage, despite the lack of agility they confer. While it takes time for him to start, once he begins moving he becomes a juggernaut of unforgiving metal, using the armor as a weapon almost as much as his sword.
Moderately Proficient:
One-Handed (Sword) - As a soldier, Gaius was expected to learn the soldier's trade. While he much prefers his shield for its versatility, he has learned the necessity and usefulness of a good, sharp blade to the guts.
Somewhat Proficient:
Speechcraft - For several years and at quite a young age, Gaius served as the head of the Milonem family. In doing so, he gained a bit of insight into what makes people tick, and how to drive prices down. It was never his strong suit, though; he left most of that to his younger sister Helena.
Blacksmithing - When he was serving in the Legion during the Civil War, he found his usual station in Solitude remarkably boring. Taking to wandering the streets, he eventually picked up some basic smithing advice from Tolquist, an apprentice to the major smith of Castle Dour. He knows just enough to make a good knife if he needs to, and to get the edge of his sword a little sharper. Anything past some basic steelwork is beyond him.
Marksmanship - On the list of obligatory skills to serve in the Legion, this is up there. Gaius doesn't carry a bow with him—too bulky, and too restrictive of motion—but if he needs to, he can make a passable shot.
History:
In the former Talos Plaza district of the Imperial City, there is a relatively unassuming house, insofar as any of the extravagant houses there can be referred to as "unassuming." In that house lived a man named Gaius Milonem II. His friends at the inn called him Milo, or Junior if they were feeling ready for a punch to the mouth. He was a Triarius of the Prima Cohort in the Imperial Legion. Such was an immensely illustrious position; he was immensely wealthy, and had the then-newly coronated Emperor Titus Mede II's ear. His wife was his pride and joy, a gorgeous Imperial woman several years younger than he was named Julia. His life was looking up, and though the Empire had been fractured after the breaking of the Septim line and the elves in the West were growing stronger, he was optimistic about the future. He had three beautiful children; his firstborn, Gaius; the middle child, Helena; and his youngest, Lucius. Everything seemed as though from that point on, things could only go up.
Then the Great War against the Aldmeri Dominion began.
Gaius II had grown...complacent. Lazy. Soft. He hadn't trained to his previous standards in a long time, and in his growing age, he was unfit to fight such a war. Still, however much he didn't possess that he'd once had, he still bore his pride, the fierce pride of a soldier of the Legion. Strapping on his now ill-fitting armor and gathering up his slightly-rusted spear and sword, he rode out on his aging horse, off to join the front lines. Before he left he kissed Julia, and promised her that once the war was over, they'd finally be able to get the peace they deserved, and the Empire would be strong once again, as in the days of the Septim Dynasty.
Thousands of stories ended the same way in those days: he didn't come home.
Of his children, only his namesake, Gaius III, was old enough to truly understand what was happening. Helena was seven and Lucius was six. Neither were truly ready to comprehend the idea of mortality. As the Aldmeri Dominion rode into the Imperial City for their victory, he stared at them hatefully from his manor's window, watching as an Altmer mage gathered up a ball of explosive fire before unleashing it upon the statue of Tiber Septim that he'd grown up seeing from his bedroom window every day and night. The exquisitely carved stone erupted in a hail of shards that clattered to the ground amid the cheers of the elves, and he felt his teeth grind themselves together.
One day, he'd promised himself. One day, I will become strong enough to speak for the Empire and the Legion, and those elves will wish they'd never come out of the west!
From that day forward, he threw himself into mastering the art of combat. He sought out the best blademasters and soldiers that still remained after the slaughter and trained under them obsessively, totally disregarding his broken household and grieving mother in his mad lust for vengeance. This feverish rush of hatred kept him going for years. At fifteen, he was skilled enough to spar with members of the City Guard. At seventeen, he had graduated fighting them and moved on to fighting the younger members of the Imperial Legion, or what little of it remained. He trained until his muscles wrenched under the stress, and then he clenched his teeth, bit through the pain, and trained more. Finally, upon reaching his eighteenth birthday, he enlisted, strapping on his new armor—smaller, then—and awaiting the first call to serve.
It didn't come for quite a while. As his position in the Legion solidified, he slackened off in his training. That's not to say he'd become complacent, as his father did; he'd learned his lesson. No, he simply stopped training like a madman, turning some attention to the shattered wreck his family had become in the eight years since the end of the War. He set the determination that he'd previously applied to his training to healing his sick, depressed mother and being the elder brother that Helena and Lucius needed him to be. One one count, he was unable to succeed; Julia passed away, leaving the family's estate to be run by the barely-of-age Gaius. He had never fully appreciated the work that came with running a noble house, and it taxed him heavily. During that period and until Helena reached her own eighteenth birthday, about three years later, he was the least physically fit he's ever been. His mind, however, grew some; he reclaimed his childhood lessons about arithmetic and entertaining, and until Helena stepped in to help him, he managed.
With Helena largely running the family and Lucius about to come of age as well, he was largely free to return to his duties in the Legion. He served as best he could in a fairly uneventful post-bellum Empire until the next big event came to pass: the Stormcloak Rebellion and Skyrim Civil War. He was called to serve in its second year. He played an important role in the Battle For Whiterun, and in general, he served with distinction until the war dragged to its close. During the final battle in Windhelm, he caught a blade on his arm, severing the tendons in his left arm. It never fully recovered, leaving him with the unflexible arm.
Since then, he's been largely out of duty, pulling some strings with General Tullius to get himself stationed as a Captain of the Guard in the Imperial City so he can spend time with Helena. Lucius is stationed to the east of Falkreath, around the rebuilt town of Helgen. Until recently, he's sent regular correspondence, but within the past few months, his letters have mysteriously gone silent. Gaius was unable to totally curry his way back up into Skyrim, not while on active duty, and it's five years until he next receives a leave of duty. Instead, he found what he believed to be a relatively mundane posting up in the Jeralls, serving as a bodyguard for an archaeologist exploring a huge Dwemer ruin.
Personality:
The first cardinal point in Gaius' persona is determination. He has always been incredibly tenacious, firmly setting his mind to whatever he's trying to do and sticking with it until the end. Unfortunately, this has the somewhat less than desirable side effect of making him incredibly stubborn. Though he's constantly at pains to fix this flaw, he has a strong tendency to break rather than to bend.
He spent too much of his adolescence embroiled in bitter rage to want anything to do with that emotion now. Consequently, he's quite an amicable, easygoing fellow. There are two major exceptions to this rule: the first lies in the Thalmor, and to a lesser extent, all Altmer and Bosmer. He still has nightmares of the statue of Tiber Septim exploding, and he nurses a grudge against the Aldmeri Dominion that will never go away. After all, the main reason he joined the Legion to begin with—other than family tradition—was to make the Empire strong, so that it could break free of the Dominion's shackles.
The other exception is anybody who might threaten his family. Because of the years he spent ignoring them, and the guilt attached to blaming himself for his mother's death, he is very protective of them. Anybody who threatens them or—Divines forbid—actually harms them will receive an Imperial-style reckoning.
That protective nature carries over. He tends to be very protective of everybody he deems his friend, often superimposing himself between them and a blade, confident that his armor and shield can take the blow. The one thing that he will never leap in front of is fire. Fire alone gives him pause, causes those cold-sweat nightmares where he can still see the roaring flames enveloping the statue. He is afraid of it, and afraid of those who wield it. For that reason, he tends to steer clear of Destruction mages when he can. While he can bear a held torch, or sit next to a brazier on a cold Skyrim night, or watch his friend Tolquist working the forge, the screaming bolts of magical flame that are so common in Tamriel nowadays aren't something he wants to see ever again if he can help it.
He can often be found sitting next to a mundane fire, writing carefully with elegant, well-practiced handwriting in his journal. It is one of many that he has written in; he has an entire shelf full of journals back in his room in the Imperial City. It's become something bordering on a compulsive urge. If he doesn't write things down, he becomes frustrated until he can next take out his paper and quill. He always keeps his inkwell topped up, and is exceedingly careful to avoid breaking his quill.
Appearance: Though the picture doesn't get it across, she's tall, a few inches over six feet, and rather bulky, covered with quite a bit of lean, wiry, powerful muscle. Her usual outfit consists of a white tanktop, a red and white vest jacket (pictured), a pair of white cargo pants, and a pair of white sneakers with red stripe.
Nationality: Atlesian
Weapon: Sigyn - A set of DBPG, or Dust Barrier Projection Gauntlets. With her usual straightforward self, Tori styled it in the fashion of two massive, enormously heavy full-metal plates of armor that encase her arms all the way down to the elbow, heavier than most could lift with one hand. They possess no ranged capabilities, and no special way to augment her punching force (whether it needs augmenting at all is debatable). However, she can insert vials of dust in the side and project the dust in front of her hands to form a barrier. As would be expected, different types of dust produce different types of barriers; red dust will burn what hits it to cinders, light blue dust will freeze it, etc. While she only needs a single hand to create the barrier, a one-handed shield is relatively small and fragile. With hands linked, however, she can create a much more substantial breathing-room space, able to handle even a short volley of artillery fire. If she wants to further bolster the defensive capabilities of her gauntlets, she can encase the barrier of dust with her aura, leaving her personal self with less defense, but everything behind the barrier pretty damn safe. They don't collapse at all, so whenever she's not using them, she straps them to her back. That's quite a feat in itself, as the fists of these gauntlets are about half the size of her torso.
Semblance: Bulwark - Tori can naturally see the aura of others as a bright haze surrounding their body, and at a thought, she can consciously shift any amount of her own aura off of her and onto another. This essentially lets her be a mobile guard unit; if any member of her team runs into trouble and their aura starts depleting, she'll know, and she'll bolster it with her own at the cost of her own vulnerability. Because of this, she has exercised and trained ceaselessly to the point of having a huge amount of raw aura. Just to be very clear, she can only control her own aura, nobody else's.
Aura Color: Brilliant scarlet red.
Team: She was once one a team called WNTR, but it...disbanded quite catastrophically. It was torn apart from the inside out, and it's left her somewhat colder than she once was.
Emblem:
Personality: Tori is, in more ways than one, a guardian, and allergic to bullshit. Generally brusque and gruff to those that she finds even the smallest bit suspicious, she's extraordinarily protective of her friends and team members, and will not hesitate to get up in your face if you try something that endangers those that she cares for. That’s not to say she doesn’t have a fun side; in fact, she thrives on attention and loves being at the center of things, especially parties. If she views you as a threat, though—to herself or her friends—she will not hesitate to drop you. As a byproduct of this straightforward nature, she is brutally honest to everyone, and has no stomach for liars. No matter the motive. In her mind, lying is, without exception, a bad thing to do. As much as she wants to protect people, she has a tendency of not taking care of herself, and often ends up sleeping through the day because she’s so exhausted from pushing herself past when she already should’ve rested. Behind her gruffness and protective nature, there's something fragile and broken deep down within her that goes back to when Team WNTR was torn apart that nobody ever sees. Despite that, true to her nature, she's extremely blunt and straightforward about her past. If you wanted to know about WNTR, she'd tell you.
Background: What’s that? You want to hear about my past?
Sure, I guess. Order another round, I might be a little while.
I was born way up north in the far northern reaches of Mantle. Real little town called Svartheim, barely a blip on the map. Mostly farmers, and some retired hunters like my dad. So me, my dad Bjorn, my mom Frej, and my younger brother Ander—wait, really? I never told you guys I had a brother? Weird—we all lived together in this big house in the middle of town, right? Think about that for a sec. Poor town, wilderness all around, big mansion with one family living in it, mostly malnourished, weak peasants. Svartheim’s the kind of place that draws bandits.
So I was sitting by the windowsill embroidering—hey, don’t laugh, I wasn’t always this unfeminine—when I looked out the window and saw a plume of smoke. I didn’t think it was much, but it slowly spread until there were six or seven pillars rising into the sky. I don’t know what’s going on, so I go to ask my dad, right? And he’s lying there in bed, not paying any attention. I try to talk to him, but if you think I’m stubborn, you’ve never seen my dad. I swear he rolled his eyes when I ran off too.
Outside, I ducked out of sight, just wanting to find out what was going on, when I see it: Ander is on the ground, a man with a huge sword just raising it above his head for the killing blow on my brother. And you all know me. You know that won’t stand. Feeling powerless, I reached out my hand to Ander for what I thought was the last time, then fwoosh! I felt my aura whiff right out of me, and I watched the sword swing down at Ander’s neck…
And it bounced.
It bounced right off him, leaving him even more confused than that highwayman.
Soon after, the bandits left permanently, if you catch my drift. Very permanently. And good riddance. So after I saved Ander’s life, my dad finally got a clue and enrolled me in real education. Went through Atlas Academy without any...without too much trouble, bar one or two notable moments like Reiken deciding to go nuts and kill Wyca, and that's what brings me here. As long as I can help the people that are counting on me, I think I'm going to be alright. I just hope it doesn't go south in a big way like the last team I was on.
The last member of my team? No, she's still alive, at least I'm pretty sure she is. She was last I checked, at least, and she's definitely not a pushover. Nimmie Zinnschmidt, her name is. Real weird girl, but we all loved her. She was a lot more attached to Wyca than I was, so she really closed up when she died. I haven't seen her in years. I hope I see her again one day.
Damnit, getting maudlin. I've been talking too long and now my throat’s dry. Where’s the second round?
Likes: She finds polishing her gauntlets very therapeutic, and takes great pride in keeping them. In general, she's fastidious, generally taking over the responsibility of keeping wherever she's living at the time neat. She loves nature, especially the mountains. While it's not something she likes more than anything else, per se, she enjoys exercising and is proud of her fitness. Finally, lest you think Tori can't have a good time, she really likes getting drunk.
Dislikes: She doesn't like flippant people. As somebody who takes her duties as a Huntress very seriously, people who treat it like a game or a joke tend to make it into her bad books. As a rule, she generally doesn't like chaos and disorder. Her greatest dislike, however, is duplicity. She vehemently hates two-faced people, and finds it difficult to even tolerate being around them.
Strengths: 1: Tori is...musclebound. As a byproduct of the training that strengthened her aura, her physical body grew too. She is immensely strong. 2: In her own words, “I dare you to try killing me.” Between her weapon and the sheer volume of her aura, she can take a preposterous amount of punishment and pain before ever really suffering through bodily harm. She is the archetypical ‘immovable object.’ 3: Though if she doesn’t like you she’s stubborn as a mule, to those that she knows and trusts she’s a very calm person, relaxed and ready to go with the flow. She remains calm under pressure, and is generally a decent fit for leadership roles, despite not being the leader of WNTR.
Weaknesses: 1: Though she has a lot of aura, it’s usually dispersed around whoever she's working with at the moment, leaving her with the same as anyone else, if not less. Even if she is in possession of her aura, she has no idea how to use it offensively with any technique short of “just hit it really hard.” 2: No ranged capabilities whatsoever. 3: Tori can be a bit...obsessive about protection, to the point where if an ally is wounded in a battle—even if it’s barely anything—she destroys herself over not being able to help them.
As for Nimmie, I just couldn't remember her name, so I went with the one I could remember; Reiken. Then I made up a name for the leader, 'cause it makes the most sense for the leader's death to fracture things. Only later did I look through that and find Nimmie, and add her to my bio.
Member
CitrusArms,
mickilennial,
Xaltwind,
SleepyWrites,
BunniesOfDoom,
Morgannis,
Noctis,
Kuro,
Sky Blue,
TokyoPewPew
