Waterdeep

A wiry, nimble halfling with unruly chestnut hair, a sharp jawline, and a grin that's too charming to trust. He’s always flipping a gold coin between his fingers, a nervous habit he’ll deny is nervousness at all. His clothes are slightly too nice for his station, always crisp but practical. He wears a short blade tucked into his boot and walks with the confidence of someone who’s either very lucky or very good at talking fast. His hazel eyes never stop moving, constantly scanning for danger—or opportunity.

Can talk his way into or out of almost anything; deeply loyal... until survival demands otherwise (but he’ll feel guilty); obsessed with luck and omens—won’t go a day without flipping his coin; knows everyone’s tells, and reads a room before anyone speaks; thinks quickly, moves faster, but talks fastest.

Milo grew up in the Field Ward, running dice games and scams by age eight. He graduated from three gambling dens, five taverns, and two city watch holding cells before the age of twenty. He eventually found semi-legit work managing floor traffic at a Dock Ward tavern... until he pissed off the wrong people. He got on the bad side of the Xanathar Guild, and when they tried to 'teach him a lesson,' he fled—fast. He’s been laying low in the North Ward, but luck doesn't hide forever. Milo answered the hiring call at Trollskull out of desperation, but stayed because he genuinely sees potential in the place—and in the people. He struck up a quick rapport with Zech, recognized the quiet authority in Merrick, and knows better than to cross Bertha. He likes being underestimated, and he’s ready to prove himself, as long as it doesn't get him killed.