Okay guys, sorry for the delay. There may still be some tweaking to do, but this is more or less what I'll be going with.
Name: Gattuso
Age: Early-mid thirties
Sex: Male
Race: Imperial
Birthplace: Anvil, Cyrodiil
Other Residences: Stros M’Kai, various Legion outposts across Cyrodiil, High Rock and Skyrim, hunter’s shacks, isolated taverns, etc, Crystaldrift Cave.
Alliances or Affiliations: ex-Imperial Legion, ex-Thieves Guild, various hunters, innkeepers and travellers
Occupation: 4E187-195, Imperial scout/assassin; 195-197, on the run, mercenary and thief; 197-200, wandering blade for hire and part-time member of the Thieves Guild; 200-present, wanderer and member of Virtus’ group
Appearance: See picture (to come). Standing at an athletic 5’10”, his icy-blue eyes are framed by greasy black hair usually kept off his face by a simple band, and a trimmed beard. Walks with a confident yet mysterious gate.
Personality:
At his best, Gattuso is creative, intelligent, adaptable, good-humoured and trustworthy. At his worst however, he can be mysterious, paranoid, deceitful, calculating, selfish, cold and violent.
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 his escape from the Legion and 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 been approached by, 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 a big Orc with a warhammer is predictable.
In terms of skills, Gattuso was one of the finest archers in the Legion’s ranks, and could go blade to blade with any Praefect. At 5’10”, he is quite tall for an Imperial, but his active childhood had granted him a slim and muscular physique during early adulthood. He is still nimble and lithe, perfect for his past duties with the Legion, and just as useful during his time as a bounty hunter and mercenary.
History:
Gattuso was born under a different name in the city of Anvil just before the start of the Great War, before spending some of his childhood on Stros M’Kai before returning to Anvil following the White-Gold Concordat. His parents were affluent, influential and well-respected; his father being an Officer in the Imperial Legion, and his mother working as a successful 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 in adventure 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 unspoken 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 between 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 Legion. 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, noticiing the irony of his life turning on its head once again. 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 petty 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, but the idiosyncrasies and power struggles within the Guild bored Gattuso. The group had ambition but no real security, support but no progress. One night he collected as many of his belongings as he could carry, and left for the shack that he shared occasionally with hunters not far from Shor’s Stone.
He shared some of his loot in return for the hunters’ silence, and hunted game with them for a few weeks before moving on again. Staying mostly in the east of Skyrim, in Stormcloak territory as usual, he heard the occasional whisper of thefts and deaths. Usually, the rumours were full of details, and often blamed on one guild or another, but Gattuso had noticed that the stories led to nowhere. Of course the common thought was to blame the Thieves Guild or the Dark Brotherhood, but there was never any evidence; no words of bribed officials or grizzly calling cards, only a cold trail. Some of the stories even contained stories of great skill or bravery, including one story in which a trio of soldiers had been attacked by wolves on the road, only to be saved by a mystery group. Gattuso had stifled a laugh when he overheard that the soldiers were then strung together and robbed of all their weapons and gold before being put on a raft and kicked into the White River, eventually washing up near Windhelm. Even more interesting was the rumour that the Jarl of a western hold had hired one of the group to deal with some highwaymen hidden in the forests and hills.
After a few months Gattuso had heard about half a dozen stories that all seemed to link together, and he came to a conclusion – this group would be his next employer.
Weapons: An Orcish bow, slightly darker than usual, and the best arrows he can get his hands on. He looted the bow from a bandit chest on one of his first jobs in Skyrim, and has made several adjustments and tweaks to it to make it perfect for his diverse skills and left-handedness. Gattuso also carries a slim steel sword, lighter and sharper than the standard issue sword he received in the Legion. He also has an old steel dagger tucked into his boot, just in case. It also doubles as a hunting knife when necessary, and is still sharp despite its nicks and marks.
Armour: Well-weathered dark Colovian armour with a hooded fur cloak. Despite his coloured history with the Legion, Gattuso feels as though there are few more versatile types of armour than the traditional design used by the Imperials. Although he no longer wears their colours, he holds some pride over his success within their ranks, and fastening up the buckles and clasps has been known to take him to another place in his mind when necessary. He had the armour made by Arnskar at the Ragged Flagon a couple of years ago, and he sewed on his Thieves Guild pouches himself for something to do between jobs. After all, he is his mother’s son. He also wears the boots and gauntlets given to him on joining the Thieves Guild; waste not, want not and all that.