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it is currently season 1, the year 1449 NE. The continent of Tnarem balances on a precarious edge between survival and destruction. Wars rage between nations, fractures open in the Mete. The world as the Tnaremi people know it is dying and they are left with a choice: act or perish with it.
All of the information you need to become better acquainted with the world of Sergonia and its inhabitants can be found here. Anyone wishing to join the Ericourt will be able to find the essentials here.
High Mercian Common Mercian Common Nisi No Information
No, bound and born asleep
Goals & Motivation
The traitorous fucks, Marcus Ameridia and Atticus Marinia, helpless upon their knees with sword resting on each neck is the sight Ettore lives to see. He wants them subject to the Fifth Order, their heads mounted at the front gates of Raevenna for all to see, to let them rot and spoil in the sun's heat, filling the city streets with the aroma of treason. And without mercy, the brilliant commander would see the immediate families of Ameridia and Marinia wiped away like baubles on a beach as the ocean tide rises. Perhaps they are not at fault for their family patriarchs' decisions, but it is their fault for the fate that will befall them.
Placed more in the rear of his mind is the desire to see the Imperium span over the continent, with Dubhion, Ostia, and Lornesse underneath their boot. Oh how he would love to siege the city of Errevet, to watch that white stone crumble and fall upon the bewitched people of the north. Of course, though, this is but a dream and is treated as such by Ettore. In reality, there is a civil war that must be put down, so that the powers of the north do not all collapse upon his beloved people like an avalanche, for a divided Imperium would stand no chance against all three nations simultaneously.
Less aggressive aspirations can be seen within the privacy of the home, for Ettore strives to see his children succeed in fulfilling each of their respective roles of The Four. He wants to always maintain a certain closeness with his family, and when he is available, guide his eldest son to being formed in his image, and within the image of Vulcus and even Haras, given time.
Like water soaking into the skin after caught in a rainstorm, Ettore drips with a pious nature. Every day he seeks to empower his Caeli and wound his Salis so that he can be granted peace once his life of war is all but said and done. If he is not out in the field, he will always attend the morning matin in the local temple just after awakening. In the afternoon, he will perform his Oratio Centrum by himself at his homely altare, or at a makeshift altare within the field. In the evening, after his last meal, he will carry out the Prope Liberi if he is with his family. If he is elsewhere, he will replace his Prope Liberi with a personal prayer guided by a familial focus. Additionally, Ettore always participates in Phile's Day, and brings offerings to a specific god or goddess when he is in need of their counsel or intervention, but this occurs more seldom, for it is based on larger events taking place at the time within the legate's life.
The commander feels as if he was favored by the gods from birth, but does not feel as if he was owed it. He was born strong, tall, swift with sword in hand, quick-witted in the ways he needed to be to excel within the legion, and above all else, he was graced with the perfect family once married: a son and daughter to mimic the sacred household. He is proud to be in the sights of the all-powerful beings, but does not wish to take any of it for granted. He wishes to use it to better the Veturii, and to better the Imperium so that they prevail above all, with Haras and His kin smiling down upon him.
There is no denying the fact that physically, Ettore is a Veturii through and through. He is a gigantic specimen, his summit reached at the height of six feet and six inches. Every inch of his configuration seems to be filled out with tenacious muscle, appearing more god than man when the sun shines upon his unbridled flesh.
A lion's mane of chestnut hair falls down upon his shoulders, nearly reaching his sternum. Thick about his jaw and wrapping about his lips is a beard of similar hue, aiding further to mark him as an animal to foreigners that find themselves across from him in the field of battle.
An accent against the rest of his mien are the color of his irises: a greenish-gray glow that stick out like sore thumbs when in the company of fellow Mercians.
Many scars trace his skin from days of training and war of times past. One of the more prevalent ones lies upon the left side of his forehead from his perspective. Another gruesome gash acquired during his youth can be seen ranging from his upper right collarbone all the way over his shoulder to nip at the highest reaches of his shoulder blade, the scar tissue a deep pink.
Even when sitting quietly in an expansive room filled with numerous individuals, Ettore emits an aura of dominance. It is not his words, for they are usually concise and modest, but the mannerisms of how he deals with and treats people of both equal and lower standing. He is respectful, yet knowledgeable of his place in the world, and will not allow misbehavior or disobedience. If he is complimented, he accepts it with genuine gratitude. If he is insulted, he stands unstressed, for with a simple rise from his chair and an offer to settle their differences in a plain brawl or duel, he knows he will find them returned to their rightful place, either through force or through their own cowardice.
As far as his basic mindset goes, the third child of Magnus is one that believes that respect should be given openly at first meeting. If that given respect is not given in return, however, Ettore's deference should be removed from sight and replaced with an air of competition. Of course, there is always the chance that the person in question is not worthy of being a rival, which will lead to that poor soul being ignored like the scum that they are, if doing so can be done without tarnishing his own reputation. If such an act cannot be done without his name receiving injury, Ettore knows better than most that some of their ilk need to be made as an example to others who would act in a similar fashion.
The legate is firm when it comes to his family, though it is to better them and their Caeli. He has their best interests at heart, and though his children especially may despise his criticism and his commands, they come from a place of high wisdom. Sometimes he can be too idealistic though, and his standards too highly-placed that he can seem like an overshadowing presence.
If one were to compile a list of Ettore's characteristics, they would see that he is lustful and hard-working like most Mercians. He is also patient, proud of his heritage but humble and content of his role within it, and brave upon the battlefield but less so when in the midst of emotional drawstrings. When it comes to dealings with others, he is authoritative in speech and action, and largely honorable.
Academic (2) - architecture
There was never a sense of weakness when it came to the more intellectual trade, but Ettore's supremacy within the domain of war and combat left him steered toward that path, devoting his time to it and leaving all else behind. Some of his intelligence remained, however, especially in his desire to contribute more to his success as a legate. He began focusing on the art of building, the process of bringing a structure into existence. This, as guided by his father and his martial tutors, would aid him in dissecting the weaknesses of enemy fortresses and fortifications within the field: an invaluable skill for a siege leader.
Along the lines of standard knowledge, Ettore is well-informed but not nearly an expert in the realms of philosophy, mathematics, the sciences, Templarism, the geography and history of Mercia, and the governmental structures and protocols of the Divine Imperium.
Diplomatic (1) - none
If there is one thing that Ettore has been absolutely terrible at since his time as a young boy, it is idle conversation. He finds it incredibly difficult to determine when someone is lying to his face based on physical demeanor alone, and he finds it even harder to tell a lie himself without his idiosyncrasies giving away his deceitful act. As a result of these inabilities, Ettore now has inclinations toward honesty and forthrightness that border on being ill-mannered. His consistent inconsistencies of being able to predict the motivations of another based on their attitude has made him stop trying to do so. Instead, in contemporary times, he uses good men more skilled with dialogue discern that for him, and relay their instincts to his ears. Maybe he will not catch the unsettled nature of a soldier that could be working for the enemy, but his compatriots surely will.
When it comes down to it, the legate really has no care to know the etiquette of foreign powers, and neither does he care enough to be even adequate at the decorum of Mercia. He knows no noble houses outside of the Divine Imperium, and sometimes forgets those who are not important enough within it. Really, all he has to do for the Veturii is command a legion into battle and prove the victor. He has no need for feigning smiles and rehearsing bullshit in front of a mirror.
Martial (3) - infantry tactics, fortification and siege tactics, grand strategy
On the field of battle and at the table of war strategy, Ettore is seen as a master in the making. His grasp of the legion's battle formations and his comprehension of their style pushed him toward his specialties in infantry tactics. A vast majority of each legion is plain infantry, and Ettore is superb at using them near perfectly, even creatively to ambush and surprise his foes. Some might call him a technician mixed with an experimenter, which makes him difficult to predict and even harder to out-maneuver without having a clear advantage in numbers. Beyond this, Ettore is even skilled at siege warfare and the movement of a plethora of legions throughout a large land mass, and this talent is what may prove to be his most coveted when advanced to the position of praetor.
On a personal level, the legate is a formidable fighter, and dreaded by any who have to face off against him while in the midst of war. Brawn mixed with brains is what makes him truly devastating. He is vicious in his attack, and will try to overpower and circumvent his enemy simultaneously. If their defense is respectable, he will not drain himself of stamina at futile attempt. Instead, he uses his mind to fall back and be patient, bringing his own defensive techniques into play to bait in a strike from the opposing force that he will then counterattack. And if that does not work, he will start using his imagination to get the edge, and use his surroundings to his benefit.
Furthermore, Ettore is schooled in the usage of many a weapon: the sword, the spear, the shield, the bow, and the fist. Through his vast amount of years of training, and his own determination to remain in peak shape, his physique is nearly flawless when it comes to muscularity and endurance.
Relationship with House
Loyal to a fault, Ettore is of mind that if the Veturii ship sinks, he will be the first one to declare himself going down with it. He is a dutiful son to his father, Magnus, and with that diligence comes a certain amount of respect for the man that should be the sole Imperator of the Divine Imperium. Though his eldest brother will take over the patriarchal position once Magnus is gone, and is undoubtedly the right hand of the Veturii head, Ettore views himself as the left hand. He is the fist that punches through the walls of their foes, that makes the foundations crumble down upon them. He is the enforcer, and he plays the part well, and he plans on playing it for a long time to come.
There is no one in his immediate family that Ettore thinks very poorly of, but there are those in the more extensive family that he holds judgmental opinions for. The legate is a staunch traditionalist of Mercia, and if someone does not fit the mold that all men should, Ettore will scrutinize them and carve them into something more Mercian with his own two hands. Most of the time, however, he tries his best to be collaborative to better the whole, so that the Imperium may rise as one instead of as fractions.
- Known to be undefeated in the larger battles that his legion has participated in, and is known to have fought alongside his own soldiers on the front lines in the Battle of Lacrima and the Siege of Agrieum.
- It is common knowledge that Ettore is an esteemed legate of Veturii, and is the third son of Imperator Magnus Veturia.
- There is much evidence that tells of Ettore being a true Mercian, participating in carnal parties and dueling bouts when in a state of relaxation away from the battlefield, further emboldening his Caeli.
- Entered the Mercian military as a legate instead of a tribune because of his status as a Veturii and because of his martial prowess.
- Many voices tell of how the Four favor Ettore Veturia Agostia, and with his ability to remain nearly unscathed while fighting like any other soldier within two victorious battles, many more voices believe him to be god-touched by Haras and Vulcus alike.
- There is hearsay that Ettore's growing military reputation will make him a front-runner in the near future to become one of the youngest Praetors ever in Mercian history, especially with the sheer number of ongoing wars.
- Talk throughout Raevenna's court tells of interested businessmen looking to sell their blood sport ludi to Ettore for a discounted rate so that they may acquire favor with the gods.
Epithets: Ad Gryphem Invictus de Raevenna
Translated to the Undefeated Gyphon of Raevenna, Ettore earned the name by being wholly victorious in every large-scale battle he has commanded thus far. With a growing reputation of invulnerability, the presence of his legion places at least an inkling of fear into the hearts of his enemies.
Born the third child to the Imperator, Ettore Veturia Agostia was brutish even as a child, and those propensities were the deciding factor of his father to nudge him toward a martial career at a youthful age. He grew large in stature quickly, towering over boys his own age with ease, and as he trained for the legion, he proved on another level than those who wished to ascend alongside him. He befriended many of his peers as an adolescent, leading by example and treating comrades that proved themselves with the respect they deserved.
Even though he was an outstanding warrior, though, the legion prospect truly shone with the gods' light in the presence of academic tutors. Paired with strength was a sharp mind, and his knack for architecture, siege warfare, infantry tactics, and expansive battle strategy was impressive in the eyes of his elders.
When Ettore turned eighteen, his father arranged a marriage for him with a twenty-one-year-old woman of the Siccii family, a patrician clan ruled by Veturii. He had no love for the woman, but such emotions did not matter. It was a social and political contract to keep the Siccii happy and well-represented within Raevenna. At least, that's what his father told him, and like any dutiful son, he agreed and promised to play the role of husband to the best of his ability.
Soon enough, his wife would be heavy with child, and even though their young pairing had began aloof and estranged, the union of their bloodlines within a new life brought them closer, especially on the day of their son's birth. A nineteen-year-old Ettore was torn by the customs of his own people, for like any Mercian birth, he—as the father—was unable to see his firstborn until the day after, where a feast was held to celebrate the new Veturii.
The patience of such an ordeal was worth it, though. To hold his child, Orso, in his arms for the first time was an experience that he could not describe to another who had not had the same experience for themselves. It was just another feeling to relate him with his father and elder brother, for he was now another man who would be embracing the role of Haras. In praise of his new position within the family, and of his own prowess on the training field, Ettore challenged his uncle, Durante Veturia Agostia, to a duel of honor, a shocking display that sent his family into an uproar of excitement.
Experience and wisdom against youth and passion, Haras against Vulcus, as it was seen, and like gamblers in the arenas of blood sports, various Veturii made bets on who would win. Without armor and only armed with training swords, a forty-year-old Durante faced-off against the prestigious upstart. The battle started off slow, but like all good things, it built as blows were traded, as anger and the adrenaline of a fight began to bubble to the surface. Technique of a seasoned veteran picked apart Ettore for a long while before the youth reversed position on him and gained the upper hand through pure power alone. And like a relentless machine, Ettore attacked over and over again, until Durante's elder physique gave way to age, overcome by the virility of a man's prime.
At the end of it all, Ettore stood over his uncle, heavy breaths heaving forth from their chests. Their eyes were fixated upon one another before they both broke into smiles, and without a thought, the youthful Veturii threw his sword aside and helped his uncle to his feet. Winners of bets collected what was owed, and the entire Veturii family applauded the spectacle, Magnus embracing his son with a clap on the shoulder and a burly hug as his battle-weathered form returned to the feasting table as if nothing had ever happened.
With even more evidence backing his claim after the victory against his uncle, Ettore began to be seen as a prodigy, and at the age of twenty-two, he was given the uncommon privilege of being named Legate of the 26th Legion without a former tribune position even being needed.
Another year after acquiring his new military title, Ettore's wife gave birth to a second child, a daughter this time—Ausonia—and in the eyes of his family and Mercia as a whole, he was seen as being favored by the gods with his family's mimicry of the Four. For the celebration of his daughter's birth, instead of participating in another duel, Ettore opted to go on a standard hunt so that he could fetch an offering for Phile as thanks for the daughter that would embody Her for much time to come.
Two more years would pass on by, and like wildfire, news of Marcus Ameridia declaring himself as Imperator of the Divine Imperium would spread throughout Mercia, reaching Ettore's ears. There had been tension between Magnus and Marcus in times past, but he had never thought it would come to this. Nevertheless, though, a civil war was in effect, and Ettore and his legion were called into service.
As the legions of Veturii readied, and the levy of Marinii were raised, word would come that Atticus Marinia had refused the call to arms of his liege, copying Marcus and declaring himself as yet another Imperator. The actions of these two men boiled the blood within Ettore's veins, and with a lust for justice, he set out into march with his men, determined to find these two traitors on the other side of a battlefield.
Small skirmishes against Ameridii would come, and then, like two oceans meeting one another, one of the first large-scale battles between Veturii and Ameridii forces would take place just outside Lacrima Bog: the Battle of Lacrima, fought in the month of August of 1443. There, against the counsel of his advisers and his father, Ettore would fight at the front lines beside his fellow soldiers. The majority of his forces would meet an Ameridii legion head on, but a smaller fraction of his entire force—just less than a third of his overall troop count—would flank the enemy through the woodlands of Lacrima, ambushing the opposing legion from a different front, forcing them to fight along two flanks.
With only bruises and insignificant cuts, Ettore would emerge, covered in the blood of his foes. His legion was victorious, and talk of his outstanding victory would trickle back to the streets of Raevenna.
Ettore would remain in the field for another two years, however, battling Ameridii in more trivial cases until he and his legion acquired enough confidence and bravado to march upon Agrieum, the Ameridii city of golden fields and plentiful harvests. In June of 1445, the Siege of Agrieum would take place, and even more so than the Battle of Lacrima, Ettore's feats within the battle would prove legendary."Those walls are strong, Legate. Too strong for our siege equipment." They were the words of a distressed tribune within his legion as they looked upon Agrieum in all of its splendor. Its towering walls stood as solid stone—ten feet thick—with two gates of hardened bloodwood: one in the east, and one in the west. "And we cannot encircle and starve them out. They likely can stay in there for years with the amount of food they've collected. Not to mention that Marcus will surely send reinforcements. He knows how valuable Agrieum is. Those reinforcements alongside the two thousand that are likely hold up in there would be enough to outnumber us."
Ettore stood tall with arms crossed, slightly narrowed eyes fixated upon the fortified settlement before him. It was a few miles out, but clear as day in the late afternoon sun, he could see the garrison ready upon its high walls. Onlookers of the stoic commander might have thought him perplexed and without solution, but those who peered closely would see the side-to-side motion of his eyes, the analytical movements. He was looking for a weakness, perhaps a wound in the stone from battles long past. And he would find it.
"The leftmost tower," Ettore muttered, staring at the rampart with squinted eyes. "The stonework at its base is weak. Lazily built. Hit it with everything our catapults have to offer and it might come crashing down. That can be our entrance." The ten tribunes at the legate's side shared glances between the tower and their commanding officer, their looks incredulous and awe-struck. "At first light tomorrow we will siege this fucking city. We are going to give the impression that we're going to use brute force on the main western gate to gain entry. Perhaps it will make the defenders underestimate us."
Taking a breath, the Veturii's eyes scanned once more before he continued. "I want our five thousand troops spread out evenly, and slowly, we'll have our cohorts move to the left flank as a testudo-covered ram heads toward the gate. That'll be our decoy, and as soon as that tower comes down, we rush it and we swarm. Men volunteering to join the decoy unit will have their families supplied with more than enough coin and food to last a score of years. I want those men invigorated that what they're doing is worthwhile. Send out the word."
"Yes, Legate," the tribunes responded in unison, fists pressing against armored chest directly over their hearts before they parted ways.
Morning would come swiftly after a long night's rest. Within his private tent, Ettore stood before his makeshift altare, and as he bowed his head in reverence with eyes closed, he fell to one knee, wrists crossing over the raised kneecap. "In this hour, on this day, I am not able to attend your matin and I may be unable to perform the Oratio Centrum, but I kneel down before you now to ask for forgiveness, so that I may proceed in prayer to receive your favor for the upcoming battle."
Pausing, Ettore let in a robust breath, letting it calm his nerves. "Patrem, I ask that my prediction for the tower is correct, and that it does yet fall when boulders strike stone. I ask that the men that fall this day in glory be given a place within your Eternal Spring, and that if I fall this day, I will join their ranks and stand as brother beside them, awaiting your judgment."
Another break would come, Ettore licking his lips, his baritone voice filling the tent once more. "Scion, I am thankful again for the luck you have provided me with in my life so far. I know your strength will be within me again this day, and I am ready to fight in your name with everything I have so that your pride may swell when you hear of my victory, knowing it was you that made it so."
Silence would follow, respecting the separation each of the gods, though the next two he would speak to as one. "Matrona, I ask that you look after my wife and daughter, to make sure that they walk within your shadow always while I am not there to do so. Amora, I ask for you to aid in my success this day. My offering will be the blood of those I slay personally, and I promise you that it will be more than enough to satisfy your desires."
With purpose, Ettore rose and as he gathered his gear, he set out into the field, passing the royal Veturii guardsmen of his tent in the process.
"Legate, your father gives us strict orders not to let you fight," one of the guardsmen said, making Ettore halt in his tracks.
Without looking back, the commander would reply. "My men need me, and I would not see them fight such a battle while I sit safely in the rear. The Imperator knows my opinion of this. Come with me and share glory, or depart for my father's cock. I care not which you decide, but I would imagine the Four would."
Hesitantly, both would follow the legate, knowing well that Magnus would not respond kindly to the knowledge that the Praetorian guardsmen assigned to his son had decided to leave him on the field of battle.
Time would pass like a blur of actions as Ettore gave orders and joined with the leftmost flank, the only difference between his armor and a standard soldier's being that of customized details upon the steel, and the design of his helmet. Sword and shield in hand, he walked along the ranks, blade raised into the air, sunlight catching the metal, allowing it to shine like a beacon to his troops as he moved. They responded with roars of men ready for traitorous blood, and before long, he was at the very front, slipping in between the lines of men like a normal man, though it was easy to tell how emboldened those around him became, knowing full well that their infamous legate stood beside them, risking his life like all the rest.
"BEGIN!" Ettore thundered, his words echoing throughout the ranks until it reached the ears of the decoy unit, who began their approach. Arrows from the walls rained down upon them, but the testudo formation protected them from harm as the ram moved underneath the cover of their shields. It was like Ifran waiting for that unit to reach the gate, but once they did, and the ram began its rhythm, hot tar was poured down upon them, coating shields and men alike, filling the air with the screams of the burned and melting. "FIRE THE CATAPULTS!" Ettore screamed, his speech being relayed through the ranks once more.
Soon enough, the legate heard the familiar metallic clank, boulders flying overhead, crashing into the base of the leftward tower. Ettore looked on with unsure eyes, breathing heavily, waiting.
And then it began to fold. Shouts of horror could be heard as those stationed upon the rampart fell down with the collapsing stone, and with adrenaline coursing through him, the legate raised his sword back into the air. "STORM THE FUCKING CITY!" He howled, breaking rank and sprinting for the newly made entrance. Like a tidal wave, five thousand legionnaires were at his back, fiery boulders flying into the parapets of the walls that lied near to the ruined tower.
Frenzied and confident that the gods stood with him, Ettore climbed through the rubble with his Praetorian bodyguards and hundreds of others. The garrison of Agrieum were trying to reallocate their troops as quickly as possible, but the fall of the tower had been unexpected. They were outnumbered, and with no line of defense, the morale of the 26th legion stood at an all-time high, watching as their legate led the charge and drew first blood, cleaving his sword in between pauldron and helmet of the nearest Agrieum soldier, spewing blood over Ettore's face.
Releasing blade from flesh, the son of Magnus continued on, his swings precise and powerful, cutting through armor and bone, the legionnaires around him swallowing the enemy battalions whole. Like a raging river they flooded the streets, tearing apart any in their way—peasants and militia alike. Through the hovels they went, and wherever Ettore fought, the soldiers around him fought better, harder.
Before long, from aerial view, all that moved was silver and blue, pulling people from their homes, skewering soldiers with spears and leaving them to bleed out on the cobblestone. And as Ettore climbed the steps to the keep with his most trusted men, the last stand of the Agrieum garrison met a bloody end as the Undefeated Gryphon severed the Agrieum legate's head clean from his shoulders.As a show of perfection, Ettore would come out of that battle unmarked, and that performance alone would reach Raevenna within a few fortnights. Once it did, correspondence would come to the hands of the legate with such haste that it was clear as to who sent it before he even opened the damn thing. Imperator Magnus, enraged and out of patience. It was an order to return to the capital, and without a moment of hesitation, he obeyed, he and his legion being replaced by another at Agrieum before they began their journey back.
Upon arrival, a verbal debate ensued between Magnus and Ettore that resulted in his suspension from the military for several months. If he ever wanted to be a legate again, he had to make a promise to his father: never fight at the front lines again, or the consequences would prove perilous. He did not want to see his son dead upon some random battlefield, and though Ettore disagreed wholeheartedly, he accepted his fate and chose to cooperate with his patriarch.
After his period of adjournment, Ettore returned to the field with the 26th legion, taking part in many trivial battles against Ameridii armies for the next three years.
Magical Abilities Explained
Consequences of Being Awake
tab six stuff
tab seven stuff
Last seen Apr 12 2018, 11:04 PMCreated on December 29th, 2017has made 13 postsplayed by Chase