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Due to real life circumstances, I regrettably must take my leave of RPGx. I am terribly sorry about my departure. I don't know when or if I am going to be back.
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"The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon."
-G.K. Chesterton, Tremendous Trifles (1909), XVII: "The Red Angel"
Last edited by dbaque; Jul 23rd, 2014 at 08:43 AM.
Reason: removed sheet link
Aeolus was a man of average height for a Roman, about 5’ 7”. Unlike most soldiers of his rank, he was not built like a bull. His tanned skin stretched over a runners body. He was still powerful for sure, but his muscle was carried evenly across his entire being instead of gathered in strictly the shoulders and upper arms. He had not earned his strength hacking and slashing as a frontline, rather through quick and accurate finishes and long runs over the roofs of the eternal city.
His face carries small scars from training accidents along with creases and lines belying the young age indicated by his step, manner, and mouth. His brown hair is cut short, as per regulation, and when not in uniform he wears a tunic and an ornate pair of bracers. His eyes are electric blue, the most noticeable of his features, except for the missing ring finger on his right hand.
In uniform he dresses as a centurion, but he has decided to wear only the breastplate, greaves, and his own braces in combat as armor, and he generally avoids using his shield except when in the phalanx. For weapons, he carries the standard gladius on his left hip, a half-moon sica on his right, and a couple of spears beneath his shield on his back, lighter than the classic pilums. His pride was a lighter and longer sword, buckled beneath the gladius, custom made with beautiful craftsmanship and small pictures symbolic of wind and speed.
Take a duelist and make him centurion then add a pinch of messenger.
That’s what Aeolus looks like.
Personality:
While it may be assumed, Aeolus has a default personality, it hasn't been shown to anyone. He simply adopts whatever conversational attitude will accomplish his goals most easily. He can act the hard-bitten army officer, patrician playboy, just-one-of-the-guys, the formal diplomat, or most anything else. A superb actor, he may even copy the mannerisms and conversational style of another.
Background:
Aeolus met his mother once, at birth. Then he was taken from her and never learned who she was. His father, Publius Sestius, determined that he was strong enough to be taken into his retinue, either to become a personal secretary and servant or a legitimized heir.
And so, Aeolus lived his childhood training as a high-born patrician. He was never told that his master was also his father, and found himself in a rather unique. His days were spent studying philosophy, political theory, and oration, receiving the education of an heir but not the respect. At the same time that his master made him run the errands and do the chores of a slave. He washed the dishes as he recited the Twelve Tables of Laws and attempted to explain their significance to an unforgiving judge at the table that Publius had hired. At ten he began distributing the allowances of clients in the morning, as a patron, only to run to the market afterward to buy whatever his master requisitioned. He had a foot in the worlds of slaves, plebeians and patricians.
In time he proved himself a natural in most things. He earned eloquent writing, a deep connection philosophy, and an understanding of basic sciences in a short time. He did well in history and memorized nearly all of the festivals, gods, and rituals of the Roman State, not mean feat by any man’s measure. However, where he excelled was politics, oration, and the art of conversation. He possessed a natural charisma, had earned empathy, and understood manipulation better than any. Unrecognized as he was, there were no others even close to being as near to the father of the family as he was, not Publius’ wife, nor his daughters, nor any retainers. By the time he was fourteen, everyone in the family was unconsciously treating Aeolus Ventus, the name he had given himself as his speed had become apparent, as Aeolus Setius, heir to Publius Sestius.
In addition to his time spent in the company of the elite, Aeolus’ servant status allowed him some free time, more and more of which was spent away from the house as he aged. He spent most of it alone, or among strangers. Some nights he went by watering holes, spending allowances of Publius for his “servitude” on drink and games of chance, all the while making friends who would forget his name, if not him, the next day. More nights he spent on the rooftops, simply watching people of all ranks and walks of life. His vision was, as he understood it, uncanny, nearly inhuman, as was his hearing. He never told anybody of his sensory abilities, but in the nights spent observing, they proved invaluable.
Attached to no one group, his impartial observances taught him much. If he could’t be any one person, then he would damn well understand every single person. His goal throughout these years was to attain an even greater ability to understand people, to read people, to manipulate people to whatever direction he thought was best. Whether that direction he choose was best for them, or best for him, he never really knew or decided.
It was in these years, as he completed his last years of academia under his father that he was first contacted. The Liberalis Circulum they called themselves, or simply the Brotherhood of Assassin’s when they felt like being more concrete. Their members came from every class and life, both in and out of Rome. At first they simply toyed with him, leaving vague notes hinting at the location of the next letter while leaving him with a slightly increased understanding of their organization. At first he followed the notes for the sheer pleasure of the game. Then, as Assassins came in person to teach, he fell deeper into their beliefs.
Aeolus reached the final test on the day before Publius sent him to the army, to win glory as all hopeful politicians in Rome must. They ordered him to kill a young patrician who had been become the patron of his family far too early. The target had mistreated and killed slaves, stiffed his clients, and families under his control had suffered miserably. It was easy as a song for Aeolus to talk his way into the house, to sneak into the man’s room. Rictus, the young man, lost control of his bladder when he saw Aeolus, trained to kill, standing not a foot from him wielding an elegant Sica. In an instant, the Assassin read the victim, through body language, the room he had called his own, a connection found through the eyes and the tone of his pleas for forbearance and forgiveness. They were legitimate, and Rictus was really just a scared boy in a bad spot. But his life would lead to more death, Aeolus knew. So he killed him, threw up his empathy, and left as a ghost by roof. He received his hidden blade and membership in exchange for a finger and trust in the clearness of good and evil.
The Liberalis Circulum allowed him to join the legions, and Pulius sent him to do so. His ability in combat he had learned as an assassin gave him no help in joining the Roman war machine, and so he learned the phalanx. While adept, he was not nearly as skilled in working with soldiers as he was at combat in his own style. Despite this, his natural ability at leadership, earned him the love of the soldiers, and his ability at strategy was lauded by his commanding officers as he trained. Midway into training a man above him died under mysterious circumstances. Upon finding the corpse, Aeolus found a letter in his tent, “The Brotherhood will benefit from your higher position, let us be the first to congratulate on your promotion.” He was promoted to Centurion the next day. Aeolus accepted, but honored his predecessor’s memory in every manner possible, far beyond what the man had deserved. He had known the man, and added a second ghost to his nighttime terrors.
After completing training, the new legion was ordered to march to battle. Before leaving, Publius, Consul for that year, 452 B.C., recalled his son to Rome. He recognized his son, who took the name Aeolus Sestius Ventus and a sword that Publius knew was more fit for the young man’s style than the gladius. The son of the Consul took his acceptance into the family with grace, and refused the promotion that his father offered to give him, assuring his father that he would earn it himself. When asked about who was his mother, Publius told his son that her identity should wait until after the war, for many reasons. Not knowing what to think of his father’s parenting style, Aeolus left for war, for glory and for time to think on his new position. He found another note signed with the sign of the Assassin. He left it unopened, but neither it nor the sword ever left his person.
Jun 17th, 2014, 11:01 AM
