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Palamedes · 02-18-2020, 01:06 AM

NAME: Milo Carter

APPEARANCE: Milo is a young man somewhere in his early to mid twenties, with the slim but athletic build. His blonde hair, while short, is starting to grow out a little and he struggles to keep it looking neat and proper. Similarly he does his best to keep shaven but clearly lacks the personal skill to get rid of the fine stubble that is constantly gracing his face without the occasional cut.

While generally affable, especially with those from similar class backgrounds, Milo seems generally tired - more mentally and emotionally than physically. He's usually slouching and sullen by himself, though when something sudden happens or anyone addresses him formally he immediately stiffens up and becomes notably sterner. Tolerant of most races and creeds, he doesn't tend to ever speak of his own personal beliefs.

He is usually wearing or maintaining a suit of fairly generic light armour: a breastplate, greaves, gauntlets, and a helmet, with light leather gambeson underneath to protect where the metal doesn't. The armour is patchwork at this point, repaired numerous times since both before and Milo joined the group. It's vaguely familiar to most, and he's clearly gone to some effort to remove any distinguishing signs; insignias scratched and worn away, badges torn off, and even the colouring scrubbed to a plain grey. Outside of his armour, he wears the gambeson over a cloth tunic, with heavy boots and gloves. The only part of his attire that doesn't scream soldier is a worn but significantly more lovingly maintained cloak that he wears in times of cold or bad weather.

Between the armour and attitude rumours abound about him wherever he goes, generally negative. An Ilyun deserter too afraid to stand up for his homeland, a dangerous Laguz hiding in Man's attire, a Revotrian spy just waiting for the right moment to spring a trap. None of them are quite true. Some look and see the actual truth.

TRAINEE CLASS: Lancer
BASIC CLASS: Cavalier

WHERE ARE YOU FROM?: Revotria's bustling capital, more specifically Gallows Way. The Gallows is one of the city's many slums and, thanks to its namesake, a place of increasing political importance as the Republic expands and becomes more and more despotic.

BIOGRAPHY:

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Born and raised in the slums to common dock workers, Milo aspired to more than the long hours, back breaking labour, and rampant poverty his family and neighbours seemed trapped with. As Progress became more and more prominent within Retrovia it seemed it's promise could have been tailor made for him. Advancement, growth, the promise of a world where people could become more than they were born as? It was more than he could dream of, and why wouldn't it be Restovia's duty and privilege to spread this dream to the rest of the world, one way or another?

And so like many, Milo was an almost immediate follower of the faith, and quickly grew into a zealot. When a new war was declared on the Ilyun league, he was one of the first to volunteer to serve as Restovia and Progress' front line. These first tests of his faith amidst the blood and chaos of border skirmishes and major engagements saw him pass with flying colours, and his fanaticism and ability to do whatever it took to defeat his foes drew more than enough attention from his direct superiors.

And so, of course Milo was present as the Restovian armies reached the first Ilyun towns. He partook in the destruction and slaughter of the villages and towns Progress' war machine passed through on its path. These second tests, facing the burning of homes and the dying screams of civilians saw his faith waver. He knew this must be necessary, but these people were not the soldiers he had faced and killed before. Milo could see in them his parents, his siblings, his friends and everyone he grew up with. Was this not for their future too? Was Progress' promise of beauty and happiness not meant for them as well, before they were thrown dead to the ground by those who swore for their cause? His superiors insisted that surely more could be saved by the sacrifice of these few, and so he pressed on and quieted such rebellious thoughts.

And so, Milo was there when Achaim fell. He was there when the orders were given to storm the walls, give no quarter, show no mercy. He was there when the walls fell, when Restovians rampaged through the streets, when the final push was made on the city's castle. He was there to see his fellow soldiers, his fellow champions of Progress and his promises, run down hapless peasants and surrendering soldiers and loot their homes. He was there to hear many of them laugh and make merry.

Finally, he was there in the castle itself, roaming the rooms for the remains of the royal family after Achaim's leaders fell in one glorious last stand. His previous fanaticism running on fumes, he hardheartedly looked with his fellow soldiers room to room hoping to find where they had hidden, when they finally came upon a small group, bearing the colours of the enemy attempting to make their way through an old library. It was them, the heirs of Achaim and a single old knight.

Immediately Milo saw true righteousness as the warrior struck, slaying a half dozen of his comrades before being overwhelmed and brought to heel. Milo's captain taunted the knight for failing to follow Progress' cause, and gave the order to kill the others. Two could have not been any older than he was, and the third was but a child. Milo paused for a moment, until his captain promised him that they would all receive a small portion of the reward he would get for finding and killing the brats.

It was at this third test that Milo's faith, finally, shattered. In an instance, his spear was dug firmly into his former commander's heart, and the knight of Achaim and his two older wards took advantage of the shock of the moment to take out the remaining Restovians surrounding them. Milo was barely cognizant as they, for one reason or another, decided to repay him the favour he didn't deserve and rush past him into a secret passage. He finally snapped to as the passage sealed itself behind them, and he heard the shouts and footsteps of reinforcements in the distance.

So he ran. He ran out of the castle, through the streets, and outside of the city. Through some act of divine intervention or just the rampant chaos as Achaim fell he wasn't questioned, much less stopped, as he stole away and fled from his countrymen further into what was - or one was - the League. He quickly learned that, deserter or not, few would tolerate for a Restovian or would even allow them to live and either abandoned, replaced, or altered himself to avoid attention, and eventually found another group of refugees fleeing Progress and his endless, merciless hordes.

Tl;dr: Restovian zealot turned deserter after he couldn't take his own people's ruthlessness and hypocrisy anymore, ran far far away after snapping and helping to get his squad killed and letting the heirs of Achaim escape.

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CHARACTER SHEET:

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GEAR:

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