Flavius Scaevoli

Character Name: Flavius Scaevoli

Nickname(s): 'The Younger' (amongst family and friends).

Race: Imperial

Sex: Male

Age: 24

Birthplace: The Scaevoli estate in southern Cyrodiil.





Height: 5'11

Weight: 196lbs

Eye Color: Green

Hair Color: Black

Hair Style: Imperial Close Cut

Facial Hair: N/A

Skin Color: Tanned in the Nibenese way.

Build: He is a lithe and athletic young man, with a build suited for the saddle or fighting in the arena rather than laboring at a mill.

Distinguishing Features: He has a well angled face, and bushy eyebrows.



Profession: Imperial Praefect of a Cavalry unit.

Skills: Blades, Shield and sword combat, javelin usage, and a natural stamina from marches. He also is a skilled rider and has a shrewd eye for horses.

Magic: N/A

Training: Flavius has had four years of training as an Imperial officer, along with years of experience riding a horse and fighting in mock battles.

Other Abilities: N/A

Apparel: Imperial heavy armor, made out of good Imperial steel, and a crimson cape.

Weaponry: He carries an Imperial legion standard issue blade and shield. He also carries a steel dagger behind and above his waist.

Other Equipment: A length of rope used for restraining prisoners, a crude map of Skyrim, a flask of water and a small vial of poison for his own use should the need arise.

Companions: The men of his cavalry Praefectus, thirty men in total.



Affiliation: Imperial Legion

Religious Belief: The Divines

Sexual Preference: Bisexual

Relationship Status: Single

Personality: A young, cheerful man, Flavius spends as much time celebrating life with his men as he does leading them on patrols. He'd rather be betting on arena fights and horse races than leading men, and seems somewhat immature for his post at first glance, but beneath that lurks a spirit that enjoys the bloodshed and violence of combat- the survivors exhilaration at overcoming an opponent. He commands a certain amount of charisma ontop of this, and has earned the (grudging) respect of the men under his command. He possesses a spark within him that many in his family hope will prove to be a fire equivalent to that of his fathers.



Flavius never really wanted to be a soldier.

He was born on his fathers land, and grew up in relative comfort with a relatively easy life. Servants did a lot of the work around the house after all, but of course his father did much of the work himself when he could. Times were hard for all the classes of the Empire after its humiliating defeat against the Thalmor, even years later. However, if Flavius claimed he noticed at the time, he'd be a liar. He was educated by a scholar from the Imperial city, gaining a comprehensive knowledge of the arts and history, and could write as well as any scribe. After these long sessions of sitting still and listening to an old man lecture, he'd be shoveled off with a groan to his fathers 'master-at-arms'; a ceremonial title when the estate had at most several guards.

This Master-At-Arms had served as his fathers second in command in the great war. They had fought side by side, and saved eachothers hides numerous times. As such, these lessons were a mix between actual combat training, and the tutor going on about what a great man Flavius' father was, and would go off on how his father saved his life at this battle, or that battle or- "WERE YOU LISTENING FLAVIUS? BLOCK LEFT!"

He didn't take the lessons well, and Flavius the Younger would often be the subject of many a disappointed conversation between the Elder and the Master-At-Arms. What the Master-At-Arms said about Flavius on a daily basis was that the young man was a natural in horseback, and had some fire in him that could be coaxed out. But these conversations would inevitably lead to frustration. The fire within Flavius was unpredictable, and could only be coaxed out now and then- not tamed.

By the time he was a young man, Flavius was spending most of his time watching the cross-country horse races, studying books and poetry, and chasing after women and the occasional man his own age when he wasn't studying to become an officer in the Imperial military. Over time however, his father grew tired of his antics and hell-raising, and told him in clear terms that his time had come after a few years of this.

He was thus sent packing to the Legion, a fresh as could be officer. Most of his friends bet that he'd be dead within a few weeks.

He lasted longer than a few of them after several months of leading his men. Though he had never wanted to be a soldier, he took to it remarkably well. That fire that many had remarked on in the past surfaced time and time again, and he led his men on many a patrol in bandit and stormcloak remnant territory and emerged alive, though not always unscarred. He slept and ate wit his men were still slow to accept him despite all this, but the time would come when one of their numbers horses broke a leg in a flowing river. The mans armor pulled him down, and he would have drowned to the panicked cries of his comrades when his Praefect Flavius acted.

Flavius had hooked his legs around his horse, and leaned out of the saddle to the point where he was nearly upside down. He grabbed the mans arm and yanked him up onto the back of his, and then ordered one of the mounted crossbowmen to put an end to the horses misery.

That night, Flavius was finally accepted as one of them, and since then he has stuck by his men and them by him. It's been a year since the boy came up north, and it's been one of the simultaneously most miserable and exhilarating times of his life. After all, Skyrim is a harsh but beautiful mistress.