Octavio Stane
Dark Elf
"Spellsword," With a mastery in two-handed weapons, an adept-level proficiency in one-handed fighting, a slightly above average ability in destruction, and a common level of ability in restoration. In emergencies he will use certain Illusion, Alteration, and even conjuration spells, he has been trained to do whatever it takes to survive. He is currently trying to master the art of stealth in heavy plate, and attempting to create a specialized style of two-weapon backstab-styled combat. He wields a Skyforge Steel Claymore and a very special Daedric mace he got in an abandoned house in Markarth, not truly abandoned, for it housed the spirit of a Daedric Demi-God. After being posessed to murder a priest, albeit an evil one, he was rewarded with the weapon, and decided to use it for good. Still, it disturbs those around him and he only uses it in emergencies.
I like the idea of being a complete weapons master, it may be a waste of points for some (which is why I love having the console command, I worked out a way to turn back the level clock and set my stats back without removing perks so I can experience trying new things, while still being challenged.)
His current sign is the Warrior
He has a genius-level intellect, far beyond that of most men, and even most high elves, whether this is due to his ultimate heritage (dragon born) or his mixed blood, or because he spent his first 25 years in bed reading, it is unclear. I compare him to Batman in physicality and intelligence, with the same tactical brilliance, or Frank Castle, with his militaristic approach to complete destruction of the enemy. With hints of Malcolm Reynolds, Angel (Whedonverse), and Buffy, especially Buffy Summers and Bruce Wayne's compassion, at the same time he has a darkness in him that he fights that makes him want to kill, giving him a duality that makes him erratic. He experiments with all sorts of potions and drugs. Of course I don't completely take cues from their personalities but just imagine a gruffer sounding Sherlock Holmes (the Robert Downey Jr version) with a hint of schizophrenia and moderate to severe aspergers (which is what I have, the aspergers, not the schizophrenia
). The Punisher is my favorite character so I try to "put a little Frank Castle in him"
but what I end up getting is more of a Dexter Meets Batman Meets Sherlock Holmes type of thing
. Which is just fine with me
So physically he is a brawler, like Frank Castle, after he met Faenriel he developed more technique and became more of a Batman-Sherlock-styled fighter. Eventually he became a master of the claymore and two handed weapons, which in most cliched fantasies are the guys who are bad and get wasted by the dual-wielding guy or the guy with the sword and shield.
He is slightly taller than your average dunmer, very muscular but not so much that it slows him down, as of right now he suffers from mental trauma from being severely tortured and suffering at the hands of Thalmari experiments. He also sacrificed all of his friends, remaining family, his men, and lost a major battle all in the name of defeating them before his capture. Afterwards he served as a Thalmari assassin until his mento Faenriel captured him and-even though he hated doing it to his dear friend-he "Re-wired" Octavio and sent him back in. Where he went on a suicide mission. Faenriel, as well as one other general who later died, are the only ones who knew he was alive or went on a mission to kill the Thalmari Grand Arch-Bishop and Steward to the Thalmari Empire. One last-ditch effort to stop the White-Gold Concordant, he would've died in the process, and been named a lone-wolf, a terrorist. But it never happened. His nemesis, the man who killed his mother (thus taking her crown bestowed upon her by her people as well as the people of Cyrodil and even some of those in Skyrim as the "Greatest swordsman in history"), a very high-ranking Thalmari official (with no real apparent name, he was known as "Lor" to Octavio) with centuries of dark, evil, ultra-secret history stopped him, again. Despite the the war having been over for slightly beyond a decade. The timeline between Lor turning him into a weapon against the Empire, to the Faenriel's pulling an "Obi Wan" on him and trying to get him back, only to nearly kill him and then send him on a suicide mission is approximately 8 years. After Octavio's capture at the battle of High Castle Thylmitiri (formerly Saretoga)
So it was that he was sent on a suicide mission against these men, likely to never return. Faenriel said goodbye to his friend, and quit, moving to Riverwood, to live out the rest of his days, which, unfortunately for him (he thought at the time) was several centuries away still, in spite of him being the old man of their elite unit, and now the only survivor minus Cosnarch, who as of late had become a drunk. Even though when he was drunk he was still able to take on a dozen men with no weapons or armor, he didn't follow orders and his demons had destroyed him. Faenriel dropped him off in Markarth after Cosnarch nearly got him killed in their travels into Skyrim (he couldn't seem to stop attacking the new Thalmari inquisition patrols)...
As for Octavio
The battle he fought was epic, with your usual action-packed fair, and tons of collateral damage. Octavio, who had thrice-met Lor and thrice-been defeated, was about to face death once more, as Lor's shot out an ice-spike that splintered inside Octavio's side he came in hard with his double-length Akaviri dagger. Octavio shouted-what he thought- to be "NO" (it might have been "RO!"), born of pure rage, and honest fear of dying. Above he heard a strange shout, or perhaps an echo of his. His voice defied everything he knew, magic, the elements, and it launched Lor over a cliff. No, Lor didn't die, and no, he didn't somehow mysteriously survive, he caught himself using his honed reflexes, even managing to taunt Octavio from below.
That's when Octavio started succumbing to his wounds and made for the border of Skyrim. Meanwhile, he couldn't help but feel as if he was being given chase to something above. Whatever it was instilled enough fear to keep him going. He had enough skill in alchemy to staunch the bleeding using mountain flowers and herbs. He pondered letting himself die, however. Lor always beats him, and now he is heading back home, a disgrace, the great failure of the great wa-
That's when Ulfric Stormcloak slammed into him and a spear whizzed past his head.
He is very heroic but has an complex history, which I won't bore you all with too much. I know some of my lore is off here and I'm changing the bios of a few Skyrim characters but it's just for my own personal story. He had seen the executioner's block twice before this last time and each time he had fought his way out of it, once killing over 25 men and taking 2 arrows in the chest, climbing a mountain with the arrows in his chest, with one shoe, and traveling over 30 miles half-naked to base, bleeding and nearly dead. This time though, he wondered if he should die. Not that he thought the thing following him would allow that. No, it wanted him for itself.
Personal notes:
He was born in Morrowind but was raised in the Grey Quarter. His main body of work and training was with his mother, who was a legendary warrior and sell-sword and taught him how to mix fire, steel, axe, mace, the pen, and the art of speech into a deadly combative force. After his mother died in a fierce battle with a mysterious Thalmari assassin, he joined an elite squad of Imperial Soldiers. Where he had further training from a Bosmer named Faenriel, who also had suffered some losses of his own. The squad never became legendary, like the blades, but it wreaked even more havoc in the war. Eventually the Blades discovered the existence of this group-of which only General Tulius, the King, the leader of the blades (Sworn to secrecy), and 3 other high-ranking officals, two of which were other generals. With the blessing of the secret committee the blades joined forces, Faenriel and Octavio would lead dozens of battles and nearly turn the tide of the war.
In a botched move that involved Octavio going against the direct orders of the young Tulius and his mentor, Faenriel, he led a large force of over 300 blades, 450 of his own men, and 2,000 shock troops into the great Thalamri stronghold that was the center of all their war efforts in Cyrodil, Skyrim, Elsywer, and even Morrowind, whatever parts either empire wanted.
Octavio and his men are as confident and battle-hardened as a group ever was, minus a few greenhorns. No worries though, they are winning their first battle, then the next, and the next. Finally they came upon the stronghold and a siege is to begin. For days it rages, those days turn to weeks and Octavio becomes desperate. He has suffered a few defeats, but never a crushing one. As of right now it could go either way, and he only likes to fight battles he knows he can win. He had an ace up his sleeve and decided to use it. Giants, giants that are his friends. In history we've seen this before, albeit rarely. Giants are fairly intelligent but they lack ambition, though they are very long lived they never build cities or have more than one or two offspring in their life. Yet these giants were slightly different, lively, and enjoyed the company of Octavio's original band of adventurer friends. Now an army.
Octavio may sound like an overeager fool at this point, too confident in his giant friends, and his army. His continued failure to sack the fortress is really a testament to how dangerous the Thalmor really are more than Octavio's want to be a general. While his 450 men considered him one, it wasn't until he displayed his diplomatic abilities with the giants, his combative abilities time and again in battle, and his ability to go out with a squad of men and come back with every single one of them, alive. All of that bought him enough loyalty that these men followed him into the heart of enemy territory to take on a hold where-even if they got in-they would be outnumbered 2-to-1. But if they won, they all knew the war would turn the empire's way and the Thalmar would be forced to retreat. No White-Gold Concordant. No human genocides. On a personal level, his mother's spirit oculd finally rest.
Alas we all know what happened in the war. Hindsight is a daedric-dog, isn't it?
Octavio's personal account:
This took place 6 years before the end of the Great War.
The Siege began in the dead of night. 25 giants started the bombardment. Octavio had plans of his own, one of his closest friends, a half-giant named Ysger Thunder-Fist (I never bothered to ask how, or why, his father wed and bedded a giant, he was supposedly a giant-for a human-anyway, I digress), who stood only 13 feet as to the average 20 the full-grown giants had, but being no less weaker- hurled me over the castle wall and into the highest point of the command tower. I was covered in a ball of hay, supported by sacks and rope and a bit of protective shielding magic to cushion. Around me the sounds of battle were erupting in the street below. The forge near the tower exploded and I was nearly rocked off my feet again. As I caught myself I felt a mace crash into the back of my helmet. Funny, I have taken on a dozen men by myself, I have the reflexes, yet I didn't see that coming, not even close.
I rolled with the hit to minimize damage, as my attacker-cloaked in black and wearing what seems to be ebony armor-reversed his grip and brought the mace back I dip under it, then going from a crouch I launch myself up into it. No worries, my sword is still sheathed over my back and I use both to deflect the attack, forcing my opponent's arms wide. From my belt I produce a dagger and in a swift "X" motion I slash across his chest, I know it wouldn't harm him, just distract him as I ready my Claymore.
As I do he conjures a Daedric greatsword of his own, not just any one though. Normally when you are creating one or pulling one from the realm of Oblivion, only for it to go back, you never-or rarely-get the same one back. This one is very unique though, very recognizable. I saw it my first time when it was splitting my mother into two.
In my lifetime, to date, I had mastered 1,420 different forms and stances to prepare me for this moment. Each time I faced this man I survived. As far as I know I am the only one to have done that. Which leads me to believe he is toying with me. I could tell this time he wasn't, for he has never used this weapon on me. I mastered a special move just for this.
As he came in at me I leveled my sword with my chest, the claymore consists of a catch-guard, mine was extra big with a deep grove one end. At the last moment I caught his blade and brought both of ours together, forcing him near me. His hands turned to fire, so I turned mine to ice. His magic would outlast mine, I knew that. But I had a few tricks up my sleeve. He was taller, and for a High Elf he looked like a damn barbarian, I'd never seen a high elf so big and strong. But he has weakness, I'm no slouch myself. As we continued our battle I saw the front gates to the fortress collapse and 3 giants marched through. I grinned and for the first time, I saw Lor's eyes widen. "Enjoy the view Lor? Say hello to my friends."
"Oh I'm not surprised by them, I just didn't think you'd be so pathetic as to play your hand so early." With that I looked down and saw a part of a wall on the south end of the castle, furthest from the tower and the battle, open up and dozens of frost trolls marched forth, with over 200 orcs and bosmeri soldiers overseeing them. "We've bred them, cut into their heads and made it so they would only listen to us. They were our first experiments, now we've moved onto Orcs. Far more intelligent, there were even a few that are as smart as the Bosmer, which is hard for me to say, by Oblivion I'd put orcs above the humans you fight so hard to protect!" He launched a flurry of attacks at me. I watched my giant-friends fight valiently, killing many of the trolls-thralls and smashing on through. For a moment it looked as if-in spite of the new odds-we'd still win. In fact, we are winning. Then I saw the north wall open seamlessly and another entire squad of those things tore into my men. I had one last trick up my sleave though...
He was now wielding both his wicked sword and that mace. I came at him again, he deflected my attack. I used the high-eagle offensive 6-point strike, I doubled-down on my attacks, pressed, pressed and countered everything he threw at me. For every hit, however, that I gained, he would tear me down one more peg. "Octavio!" I heard a scream from outside, and for the quickest moments of a split second I turned and saw four trolls tearing my half-giant friend down, then I saw a High elven mage launch them all ablaze. Ysger hurled the trolls off, in defiance he launched himself at the mage who set him on fire, and four of his companions, shrugging off arrows, lightning bolts, and spikes of ice, even an entire fireball. He picked them up, still afire, and launched himself over the wall, far, far, below into the ice-covered sea below. Even a full-sized giant who hadn't been in battle for weeks would likely die from that fall, let alone the fire and the lightning, the arrows...
I thought all of this, I looked for only a short time but then, that's all it takes. Here I am, a great warrior, trying to end a great war. And in this moment I'm living in my emotions. I pay for it to, as the mace and sword come down on me, the mace taking out my knee, the sword coming in and slicing open my armpit, an inch to the right and it'd have killed me. Instead it put me in agony untold. As his sword came down on me again I could tell he was playing, little nicks, or beating it against my armor to bruise me. Finally I grabbed it with my bare hands, losing a pinky in the process. I yanked it from his grasp and started beating his head against the stone. We struggled for a few minutes, he shattered my jaw, broke my ribs, my nose. I then bit his nose and stuck my thumb in his eye, as I did he light up, pulsing with electrical energy, frying my armor and turning it into an oven. I struggled to get out of it, nearly passing out. He hit me againt with another lightning bolt. He picked up my sword, and I used my knife. We fought again for nearly the entire duration of the battle. As the sound of retreat echoed up to us I turn and saw in horror as yet another group came up from the rear and flanked them. I later found out that three of my most trusted leutenents had given false information to us and had helped set up the entire ambush.
I launched an attack born of pure rage at the man who killed my mother, who had outsmarted me, beaten me physically, and crushed my army. Yet in the end both of us knew this was my fault. "Are you upset because you got your men killed in your personal vendetta gainst me? Did Faenriel even know I was here? I don't think so" he threw an uppercut that I barely bobbed under, I was bleeding, badly, and my strength wasn't leaving me as quickly as he liked. I was just biding my time. Waiting for my far older opponent to wear down. He wasn't abliging either. As our blades worked furiously against the other I realized that no matter what I was going to die today. The battle was lost, I maybe even cost the Empire the war. I needed to kill this man, and get downstairs and finish my job, kill the Arch-Bishop, kill Lor the secret General, and burn this place to the ground, then I can die, then I Can rest.
My jaw was practically hanging off as he backhanded me then hit me with the hilt of my own sword. Finally he ran me all the way through with it, again. "Here's your sword. Now, you're going to die, but not yet, not after I have some fun. You're going to be our first elven candidate for something very special. That is, if you don't bleed to death before we get you to the lab."
At the time my spine had nearly been severed, I couldn't walk, I was dying. Somehow I managed to stand, as he came towards me I launched one final, meek, attack at him, but I had a gift, a knife, and it reached him this time. "Close...Octavio, but no heart"
"You moving like that must've been hell for you though eh?" He kicked me and I nearly fell out the window, into the battlefield. I felt the sword in my chest pop out of me, I saw blood spurting everywhere. "Mother..."
"No I am NOT your mother, it's me, your friend Lor!"
I awoke, semi-patched up, on a rack, with my hair shaved off and tubes inside my skull and all over my body.
That's when the real fun began.
I never even got close to the Arch-Bishop. As the battle neared it's end I heard my commander sound the retreat. Nearly all the giants were dead, two fleeing ones were getting pelted with arrows as they ran. With tower soldiers mocking them as they shot them full of holes. Prisoners were not taken, for the most part. Five giants were captures, 15 were killed, 1 died fleeing. The rest survived, all 9 of them. All but 125 of my men were killed, half of those were captured. The captured Imperials were publically executed, and over 1500 of my shocktroopers were killed, only some 150 made it out with the held of my men, about 2/3 of the blades made it, although some were captured. Faenriel was severely wounded and only eluded capture by hiding among the dead and then having to share a shallow grave with them until he could dig his way out. I later found out that that Ysger survived, although he has been in hiding since the war ended. Lor has a bounty on his and Faenril's head.
I spent the next 2 years being tortured, having implants put in me, including one by my spine, weird technology, some dwemer, some Daedric, some...entirely new. All mixed with arcane magic. Eventually I "escaped" only to be sent after my own people. From survivors of my own unit, to generals, to General Tulius and the Emporer themselves. That's when Faenril stopped me and they sent me back after Lors, where I failed again, but discovered how different I had truly become. I was a great soldier before, but after all of this, I became a living weapon. Complete disconnected from everyone else. Not that it was all losses, they cut into my brain, they altered parts of me, messing with some of my memory, and even stranger, they made me stronger, faster, more efficient. I was already a child-prodigy when it came to my intellect, but they enhanced it. For every bit of compassion stolen from me they added more
So, that is a part of my long, bloated, history. Lor's still out there manipulating me. But I am going to get him, and I will defeat him. For now, a greater threat looms on the horizon. One that, unfortunately for Tamriel, I am the only one qualified to stop.
With enemies on every side, old friends are a rarity, with dragons looming in the sky I must keep wary. I return home, avoid the axe, with no clear path before me, and the past catching up to me, with rebellion on the wind, and old wounds re-opened, as I set to re-discover myself and undo what has been done to me. With no clear path ahead, except a note from Faenriel, with a long lost will from my mother showing where her secret fortune is, I am beginning to formulate a plan to set the future straight. So I head into the land of
Skyrim...
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