Lodovico Rubeus
STR:13 DEX:17 CON:15 INT:14 WIS:9 CHA:11
HP: 21
Languages: Italian, Tamazight, Arabic, Greek
PP:35% O/L:35% F/RT:5% MS:60% HiS:55% DN:30% CW:75% RL:0%
Lodovico was born to a common prostitute on the docks of Crotone, Italy, and made up for his low status and small size by choosing his moments and retaliating viciously. He fell in with smugglers early in his life, and was barely fifteen by the time he was captured by Barbary pirates and sold into slavery in Maghreb. He was purchased by a Sijilmasa merchant and stuck in a gold mine, where he labored for several abysmal years, nursing his anger until it burned white hot. He managed to escape, but was easily recaptured; it was his good fortune that his master became a victim of the shifting political currents of this time, and after pledging his allegiance to the Maghrawa tribe, he was allowed to behead his owner and finally take control of his own destiny.
For years he fought against the Miknasa and learned the cunning and savage way of Berber tribal warfare. After countless skirmishes, assassinations and betrayals, he was rewarded for his loyalty with a gift of sixty camels and freedom from his pledge. He could go anywhere he wanted, beholden to nobody. He immediately sold his camels and took command of a Barbary pirate ship.
Although moderately successful as a pirate, Lodovico found he did not care much for the sea, and discovered that dominion over a mere vessel was simply not enough to satisfy his ambition. He considered returning to Italy to stake his claim in Rome, but decided instead to aim for the far softer city of Constantinople. When he felt he had picked up enough Greek from his fellow sailors, he disembarked to Byzantium and began making a name for himself.
Lodovico's arrival caused a stir in the underworld of Constantinople; he brashly formed a syndicate and began carving out territory with little regard for whose toes he stepped on. He survived not merely on his wits, but also by sheer brutality, employing every dirty trick he learned by watching the Berbers wage their eternal tribal war. He became a force to be reckoned with, and soon he was the de facto head of a thieves guild, and others flocked to join him.
But he had tried to do too much too quickly, and his own people never had much trust in him. After it became clear that Lodovico had no intention of settling for anything besides total control of the entire city, a move which promised nothing but more violence, members his own gang, backed by several others, conspired against him. So fearful were they that he would figure out their machinations or flub their backstabs that they devised a foolproof plan whereby they would not even need to be present to ensure his demise. A wight was procured from the ruins of the Theodosian church and released into the privy when Lodovico was in repose.
As the creature drained his levels, he reflected on how fortunate he was to have always kept a trump card to himself all these years. The fiercest battle of his life commenced, and when it was over, though his belly had been torn open by unholy claws, he was still alive... but now he felt no more capable than he had been prior to his capture from Italy, all those years ago. He bound his wounds and dove into the sewers, where he hid among the crocodiles for a week, plotting his revenge.
Clearly he could not remain in Constantinople, but such was his reputation that even if he made good his escape, in his present condition, he would be swiftly run down unless he found some kind of sanctuary where he could regroup. The guilds had ears all over, even up through Bulgaria. In all likelihood he would need to escape to the Arabic lands if he was ever to feel safe again... but it was not like Lodovico to run. Posing as a leper evicted from the city, he swam the Bosporous, dodging patrols and who knows how many of his ex-guildmates to arrive in Chrysopolis.
Calling himself by the Greek name Evaristus, he offered his services to Eorl, the only guildmaster in the area with no ties to Constantinople whatsoever. Chrysopolis was generally known as more trouble than it was worth, as it was either heavily defended by sweaty Russians or picked clean by Norwit’s people. If he kept his head down, he should have at least a month or more to plan his terrible vengeance. Meanwhile, Eorl and his idiot followers would provide him with cover and protection.
It may not have been the best of all his options, but ultimately it was the one he chose.
