Milo is a stocky, muscular halfling with salt and pepper hair and a face lined by both laughter and the sun. He wears a heavy chain shirt over a thick wool tunic, and he is rarely seen without his heavy, flour-dusted canvas apron. His hands are calloused, equally used to the weight of a mace and the kneading of heavy dough.

Milo is as warm as a fresh loaf of bread but as sturdy as a stone wall. He speaks with a soft, comforting tone but can snap into military commands with a voice like thunder. He believes that a well-fed person is a happy person, and a happy person is worth fighting for.

Milo served twenty years in the mercenary company known as the Silver Hearth, acting as both a frontline heavy infantryman and the head cook. He has seen the horrors of siege warfare and the hollow eyes of hungry refugees. When he finally earned enough coin, he hung up his sword and bought a small cottage in the quiet village of Honeybottom, intending to spend the rest of his days perfecting the perfect sourdough and blessing the town's marriages with sacred honey cakes. Retirement, however, proved shorter than expected. When a local band of hobgoblins began raiding the local granaries and threatening the children of his neighbors, Milo realized that his god did not just want him to bake. He dusted off his mail, blessed his mace, and declared that no one would go hungry while he still had breath. He is the self-appointed guardian of the local valley, proving that the sweetest treats are best protected by the sharpest steel.