Blessing: Spend Glamour to increase dice pools for Strength, Brawl and Intimidate.
Curse: No 10-again rule for rolls involviong Composure (except when using it with Wits for a Perception roll). Also -1 to Composure when using it in Resisted rolls.
Blessing: Spurious Stature - Once per day, spend a point of Glamour to add the character's Wyrd rating to their Size for a scene; take one lethal once the blessing wears off.
Intelligence 2 Wits 3 Resolve 2
Strength 3 Dexterity 3 Stamina 2
Presence 3 Manipulation 2 Composure 2
Medicine (First Aid) 2
Brawl (Blocking) 3
Weaponry (Swords) 3
Empathy (Emotion) 2
Merits, Pledges and Contracts
FS: Gladiatorial Combat 2
Hollow 3 (Size 1, Wards 2)
Mantle (Autumn) 2
Striking Looks 2
Fleeting Autumn 3
Punishing Summer 1
From a young age, Andrew Banyard was very familiar with fear. He lived in the shadow of a drunkard father and two older brothers following in his footsteps. His mother was there, yeah, but she was backed into the same corner that he was. He grew up quiet, jumping at sharp noises coming from shadowed alleyways; there were quite a few of those where he lived in Boston's less tourist-friendly neighborhoods. Unbeknown to him, however, there was someone watching Andrew that saw something more than a sniveling pile of nothing. Well, more a something than a someone.
One day, when he was walking home from school, Andrew suddenly found himself being chased by a pack of dogs that roamed the neighborhood. Running wildly, he didn't notice that the brick and concrete had changed into thorny briars. Eventually, he passed out from exhaustion; the next thing he knew, he was lying on a hard wooden bed in the training halls of a gladiatorial arena. A member of the Gentry known simply as the Regina Vepreculae had taken the young boy under her 'caring' wing, wanting to toughen the poor thing up a little. Besides, she had lost three of her best fighters not too long ago, and her subjects were screaming for new blood.
Scared out of his mind, Andrew tried a few times to run away from his twisted trainers. These attempts only earned him time in his Keeper's dungeons, worked over by her trainers in ways unwise to speak of in polite company. In time, he learned to fight against them, finding a way to channel the fear that he had felt all of his life. Eventually, his trainers cleared him for the arena.
Days, months and years passed. The scrawny child once known as Andrew Banyard had become Nerio, the terror of the arena. Slowly morphing into a quick-footed man who made exquisite music with both his sword and the screams of his opponents, he became the apple of his Keeper's eye. Her admiration, albeit somewhat unwanted, caused Nerio to grow more imposing and striking as he dealt death in the sands. On the fifteenth anniversary of his first win, the Regina offered her star any one thing he wanted.
He took her up on the offer, asking for a final bout. If he won, he wanted his freedom. If he lost, he was to be killed. The Regina smirked, and agreed to the terms. The fight that day was epic on levels unseen outside of the Greek tales, with Nerio facing down a squad of fifteen of his fellow gladiators. Despite the odds, Nerio emerged victorious, and his Keeper was forced to keep her oath. He left the arena, the sound of the crowd still echoing in his mind as he pushed through the Hedge and back towards home.
He returned to his family's apartment almost twenty years after he had departed. His brothers had moved on to their own homes and broken families, but his mother was still there with her husband, a candle flickering weakly in the growing darkness. He entered the house quietly, shushing her mother when she saw the much older man with her son's kind eyes walk into the kitchen. He gave her a quick hug, whispered "it'll all be alright", then entered the living room to see his father halfway through a bottle of Jack Daniels.
A member of the Autumn Court had been passing by the Banyard's apartment when he noticed the paired occurrence of a closing Hedge gate and bone-chilling screams coming from the nearby apartment. Just as he made his way to the door, he found Nerio exiting, not paying attention to the large gashes covering his body. The Autumn Courtier, an Earthbones by the name of Jasper, took the Ogre to meet his fellows in the Parliament of Dreams that very evening.
Nerio is a well-known member of the Autumn Court in the Parliament, mainly due to his duties as a bounty hunter. He tracks down and captures loyalists and privateers within Boston proper, using their own fears against them. Some in the House of Lords wonder if he'll make the jump to their membership. He doesn't plan to any time soon, though; being part of the court nobility means he wouldn't get to have as much fun.
When Nerio emerges from his small Hollow for the occasional job, those who see him often cross to the other side of the road. He stands at about six and a half feet, built like a wrestler but with a more graceful stance than one would expect for a man of his size. He wears clothes ready for a tumble, and draws quite a few stares for the pair of short swords he keeps at his sides; both the Boston police department and the Winter Court aren't too fond of this, but he has a permit, so they can't say shit. He keeps his black hair short, his dark blue eyes looking over his surroundings.
Behind the Mask, Nerio is truly a terrifying and imposing figure. Although of a similar build to his Mask, the Ogre is filled to the brim with the admiration of his 'loving' Keeper; this alone makes many of the Lost shudder when he crosses their path. His skin darkens to a deep brown, with occasional splotches of dried blood appearing and vanishing, retelling his exploits in the arena. To his targets, he's is an unholy terror; his allies, though, find him to be exceedingly loyal.
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