Player Name: James
Character Name: Geragio Salviati
Geragio is short, stocky, and built like a grey-whiskered one-legged barrel.
When he was younger he was a mean hard man with two good legs and a strong reputation in certain shadowy circles.
Now he's older, forcibly retired, and very few remember him or his reputation.
To most he's just a cranky old man with a wooden leg, shaggy grey hair, dark bloodshot eyes, and an uneven shave from lack of caring.
Wagon and two arsehole horses fit for the knackers
Some damn fine knives
A fucking wooden leg. He's got a knife hidden in it too, because it's got to be useful for something other than propping him up, right?
===Powers or Strengths===
-Tough as old leather boiled in piss and vinegar-
He certainly looks like someone left leather boiling too long in a vat of beeswax. Geragio's spent most of his life getting hurt, and putting the hurt on others, and even in his old age he can take punishment on the chin like a man and dish it out in kind. So long as the bastard doesn't run away or shoot at him from a distance. Hard to close distance when hopping along on a peg leg.
-Knife to meet you-
Time was, Geragio's skill with a short blade was the stuff of nightmares in certain corners of Apthoni - particularly among those who fell on the wrong side of Trivisana ambitions. Not many remember those times. Maybe one or two old-timers would still shudder at the thought of Geragio's signature of 'putting out the lights'. Eyes and stilettos just aren't pleasant things to be introduced with one another. He's not as fast, or as on point, as he was in his prime - but it would take a man of skill approaching that of Geragio in his prime to easily out-knife the old man. Even with a wooden leg, knife-fighting is close-in work, and Geragio has adapted to his handicap that much at least.
-Connections in low places-
You don't cut throats and wipe arses for the Trivisana for several decades without making as many friends as you kill enemies. Even as old as he is now, and despite no longer being the quasi-celebrity of his youth among the rougher segments of society, Geragio has a number of friends, 'colleagues', and acquaintances spread out across Apthoni and Corezo that he can call upon in a pinch for accommodation, a safehouse, or just a strong drink and a night of nostalgic reminiscence.
-Once in, never out-
Thing about the Trivisana League is this: once you are a part of it, you only leave it when you're 6 foot under dirt and food for worms. His life may be combination of mucking out pig shit, and doing shit jobs for the Trivisana, but there's no doing anything about that. And if the Trivisana need somebody disappeared through the digestive systems of a herd of pigs, then that's what Geragio makes happen. And if they need him to carry some pointless crap halfway across the damn empire, then he'd best fetch his fucking coat in case it rains. He's beholden to them, and there are no outs beyond the grave itself - which Geragio ain't quite ready for, thank you very fucking much.
-Peg legged ass kicking ain't easy-
With a peg leg you can fight, or you can move, but you can't really do both well at the same time. He can pivot on it with surprising speed, sure, and if someone is stupid enough to get in close for a knife or punch-up it's a slightly different matter - but forget chasing after folks. Or running from them, for that matter.
Not to mention riding a horse is a bitch. Geragio has a wagon for a bloody reason now.
-Some folks want him retired in a more permanent sense-
You don't get to killing a lot of people over the years without some pissant fucks wanting to return the favour. But it isn't just old enemies any more. There's new blood seeping into Trivisana management, and if there's one thing New Blood likes, it's quietly washing the Old Blood down the drain where it can't become a potential impediment to the path of Trivisana progress.
---Pt 1 - It runs in the (adoptive) family---
Salviati isn't a family name. It's the name given to every kid who's dumped on the steps of an orphanage. If it wasn't so bloody common, it'd almost be degrading.
Now, in an ideal world, orphanages would provide a caring and rehabilitating upbringing for these parentless children. But then there would be a shitload of orphanages and some massive expense accounts attached. So, perhaps that wouldn't be an ideal world after all.
Instead, many Apthoni orphanages run a thriving trade in 'Adoptions via donation' where 'kindly benefactors' would 'reimburse' the orphanages for the 'heartbreak' of 'losing' one of their wards. It was a genius way to sell children as slaves in all but name without people getting too offended. And it meant the orphanages could have a high enough turnover to keep places free for more orphans. Supply and demand, really. Perhaps Apthoni was an ideal world after all, if one were to be pragmatic about it all.
Long story short, Geragio was 'adopted' to the gladiator pits as a child, placed into the 'caring oversight' of a Trivisana man with an eye for quality malice and a long-term view of creating a stables of gladiators to rival the greatest trainers.
Hard training, hard life, hard taskmaster, and a huge chip on his shoulder made Geragio a hard-eyed young man with a taste for the violence. It wasn't like he'd have any other opportunities, with his start in the world. He did well enough in the gladiator pits before someone suggested he might be better off used for more direct benefit to the Trivisana.
---Pt 2 - Hard man for a hard job---
Geragio started out as any fledgling enforcer did: shaking down protection money and testing the structural integrity of bone structures belonging to those who'd reneged on their fees. The handler for his branch of the Trivisana liked the efficiency with which the cold-eyed youth went about his tasks. Some speculated he saw in the weak-willed victims the imagined faces of the parents who'd abandoned him, but Geragio wasn't imaginative enough to think that deeply on his motivations. Violence was just a craftsman's tool, and his craft was breaking people for the Trivisana - it was simple enough math, and he couldn't muster the empathy to give the slightest damn about the people getting broken.
He rose through enforcer ranks swiftly, and spent a long time at the top of his game. For a time, he was the most feared enforcer the Trivisana had who didn't rely on magical means to do his job.
---Pt 3 - Retired without a leg to stand on---
All good things come to an end. The same applies to bad things. Perspective counts for a lot. When Geragio bit off more than he could chew one night, and lost his leg to the ravages of sorcerous acid, his career was effectively over. His protegé killed their target before the acid could spread further, and amputated the limb before things got worse, but Geragio might as well have been killed that day.
A lot of folks were damn happy to hear about it. A lot of folks even tried their luck on finishing the job themselves, but Geragio had a lot more support in the immediate aftermath - loyalty still counted for a lot in the first year or two after he was handicapped.
But charity wasn't a concept the Trivisana subscribed to. Geragio still needed to make himself useful. When one of their pig farm operators got themselves gutted like a fish, someone suggested Geragio for the job. If he'd not been bitter about his circumstances before - and he had been - this added the kind of edge to that bitterness which cut deep.
But once in, never out, and Geragio went about his task with dour acceptance of his lot. Sometimes some fresh-faced bully boy would be sent to learn knifework from him - it was the closest to compassion that some of his colleagues could muster: a nod to his old expertise and a salve to his dying pride.
---Pt 4 - No rest for the wicked---
As he got older, there were no more salves to his pride. What fucking pride - he fed pigs everything from scraps to scrapped people, and very few of them had been done in by his blade. Even the attempts to murder him became far less frequent over the years.
Geragio didn't know who decided he'd make a good transporter, but suddenly he's told that it's time he got some fresh air off the farm, and he was to cart a wagon to Qadis to deliver to one of their contacts. The cargo didn't even seem illegal. It stank to high heaven, and he didn't know why, but he figured it'd be worth hiring a meatshield in case of arrows and other similar threats to his health.