A devious farmboy, a dead hero… the perfect opportunity to live the good life on someone elses' name!


Short, well-built, leanly muscled and athletic, Corso's physique suggests both speed and strength. Farm work added muscle to his naturally agile frame, and battle added a few scars that only serve to give a rugged and dangerous polish to his good looks. His hair is sandy brown, and eyes a mischievous golden-hazel. He prefers the light jerkin of leather armour that was issued to him as a Venedozan levy, but as part of his act he wears the arms and armour of a knight


Corso is a hedonist and opportunist, looking to make his fortune and enjoy every step of the way. A remarkably shallow and selfish young man, he yearns for freedom, for avoiding responsibility, for excitement, good food, fine wines and pretty girls. Battle thrills him, and while he treasures his own life he loves the pulse-pounding danger of a good fight.


Corso Ravenell was born to a family of poor serfs, indentured to a wealthy doge in northern Vendoza. They lived in hovels on his land, tending his crops, harvesting his vines and making his wine. One year, the traditional border skirmishes between the doge and his Alohandish neighbour rose to open warfare, and the doge began conscripting serfs into his militia. As a hale young man, Corso was one of the first pressed into service with cheap leather armour and a light blade of stamped steel, yelled at and thrashed until he could march in time and follow orders.

The first battles were a baptism of blood and fire - one Corso found he excelled at. He was quick and seemed to have a gift for surviving and picking his moments to ruthlessly take out unaware foes… and then looting the bodies. He gambled and swindled the other soldiers and spied on the doge's enemies, making himself both useful and a tidy profit. It was after several months of war, during a particularly savage ambush that he came upon the dying knight. Pinned beneath an arrow-riddled horse, the man wore armour worth ten years of Corso's pay at least, mastercrafted weapons an a magnificent shield bearing the vaunted cock of Vendoza. Corso realised this could be none other than Ser Amidale Tristerra, a legendary freelance that had signed on with the doge for gold and glory. Tristerra wheezed through cracked ribs, begging for water; Corso watched until the man's parched lips had stilled, then ransacked the remains.

Bearing a knight's arms and heraldry, riding a stolen horse, Corso abandoned his host and set out north, riding hard until he could skirt the battle, and then setting off through Alohand to the Wound. He figured that in Vendoza, too many people would know Tristerra… but in the wilds, he could play the part of the famous knight errant, dining off the man's reputation while seeking his own adventures.


None so far…


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