NINJA1492
Lord of Altera
Name: Joralin Zenobos of Moorwich
Nickname/Alias: Zen
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Height: 6’2”
Weight: 195 lbs of muscle
Hair: Joralin’s hair has an interesting tale to tell. When you look at him, one of the first things you notice is that he has violet hair outlined in blond cascading to the small of his back. There is a very specific reason for this. Late on the night of his fourteenth birthday, Joralin sprinted out of his house in a rage. His father had just demanded that Joralin take up an apprenticeship to be a blacksmith. Angry and upset that his father would not listen to him, Joralin took his few meager possessions and fled, not caring where he went. After a few days of traveling and foraging for food, he ended up in Moorwich, a large swamp. Scared and alone, he walked through the swamp. Every sound frightened him. His first night there, he came upon a hut built high out of the water. He went into the hut, and decided to sleep there for the night. Little did he know that the hut was actually the abode of a witch. Witches were new to Joralin, he had never even heard of them before. Sure, he had heard tales of “magic” and “sorcery”, but had never believed. That night opened his eyes to the world. Midway through the night, Jason heard a cackle. Blearily, he rose to his feet and reached for his sword. Or at least, where he thought his sword was. His hand scrabbled across the wooden planks, scratching, searching for the familiar hilt of Lasair, his sword. Lasair was not there. As he stood, groggily, he pulled out his meat knife, and asked “Who’s there?”, a slight warble in his voice. The only response he received was a spell that threw him unconscious to the floor. His limp body was rolled into the swamp where he lay for many days before finally awaking to the gentle hand of his father. His father took Joralin home, and along with Anna, Joralin’s mother, tended to him.
Eyes: Joralin, now twenty years of age, has returned to Moorwich. After relenting to his father’s demands, he had becoma apprentice to a blacksmith. His body bulged with new muscles developed from working in the forge, pumping bellows and hammering materials. Clad in new armor of his own design and holdinga sword, Joralin strode proudly to the hut where he had been soundly defeated before. Nervous, he dropped into a fighting stance and approached the hut. Nearing, he heard a loud cackle. Wrapping his hands even more tightly around the hilt of his sword, Joralin prepared himself. “Come out and face me!” he called. “I am ready to defeat you, warlock.” This time, the response was a deftly thrown fireball that Joralin dodged. “It’ll take more than that” he said defiantly. Coming into view, the warlock floated down from his hut, Lasair in hand. “How… funny.” breathed the warlock. “The adventurer all grown up, killed by his own blade. How utterly… ironic.” Lunging forward, the warlock swung Lasair and took Joralin by surprise, cutting deeply into the left side of his face. Even as this was happening, Joralin severed the head of the warlock. “Kill this” he uttered as the body collapsed to the marshy ground. Leaning down to reclaim Lasair, Joralin paused. The left side of his face was numb, and he could not see out of that eye. Looking into the mirror-like blade of Lasair, Joralin peered out of his right eye to se that the warlock’s strike had cut to the bone on the left side of Joralin’s face. He knew then that he would never see out of that eye again.
Skin: Pale skin from staying inside and working at the forges.
Identifying Marks: A large scar on the left side of his face, obliterating his left eye completely.
Appearance: Strong, honorable, but never aloof.
Strengths: Physical Strength.
Joralin was educated in the art of swordplay by his father, a retired guard. He is not the most skillful, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for in brute strength.
Weaknesses and fears: Joralin is not the best at archery. He has practices, but never seems to hit his target unless it is with Lasair. He takes time to adjust to new places, and never fully trusts anyone. Also, after that deadly duel in the swamp, he is constantly wary of magic users.
Religion and cults: (I do not know what gods there are now)
Profession: Joralin is a skilled blacksmith, and a capable enchanter. Enchantments are the only form of magic that he has come to be completely comfortable with. He even had his sword, Lasair enchanted.
Nickname/Alias: Zen
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Height: 6’2”
Weight: 195 lbs of muscle
Hair: Joralin’s hair has an interesting tale to tell. When you look at him, one of the first things you notice is that he has violet hair outlined in blond cascading to the small of his back. There is a very specific reason for this. Late on the night of his fourteenth birthday, Joralin sprinted out of his house in a rage. His father had just demanded that Joralin take up an apprenticeship to be a blacksmith. Angry and upset that his father would not listen to him, Joralin took his few meager possessions and fled, not caring where he went. After a few days of traveling and foraging for food, he ended up in Moorwich, a large swamp. Scared and alone, he walked through the swamp. Every sound frightened him. His first night there, he came upon a hut built high out of the water. He went into the hut, and decided to sleep there for the night. Little did he know that the hut was actually the abode of a witch. Witches were new to Joralin, he had never even heard of them before. Sure, he had heard tales of “magic” and “sorcery”, but had never believed. That night opened his eyes to the world. Midway through the night, Jason heard a cackle. Blearily, he rose to his feet and reached for his sword. Or at least, where he thought his sword was. His hand scrabbled across the wooden planks, scratching, searching for the familiar hilt of Lasair, his sword. Lasair was not there. As he stood, groggily, he pulled out his meat knife, and asked “Who’s there?”, a slight warble in his voice. The only response he received was a spell that threw him unconscious to the floor. His limp body was rolled into the swamp where he lay for many days before finally awaking to the gentle hand of his father. His father took Joralin home, and along with Anna, Joralin’s mother, tended to him.
Eyes: Joralin, now twenty years of age, has returned to Moorwich. After relenting to his father’s demands, he had becoma apprentice to a blacksmith. His body bulged with new muscles developed from working in the forge, pumping bellows and hammering materials. Clad in new armor of his own design and holdinga sword, Joralin strode proudly to the hut where he had been soundly defeated before. Nervous, he dropped into a fighting stance and approached the hut. Nearing, he heard a loud cackle. Wrapping his hands even more tightly around the hilt of his sword, Joralin prepared himself. “Come out and face me!” he called. “I am ready to defeat you, warlock.” This time, the response was a deftly thrown fireball that Joralin dodged. “It’ll take more than that” he said defiantly. Coming into view, the warlock floated down from his hut, Lasair in hand. “How… funny.” breathed the warlock. “The adventurer all grown up, killed by his own blade. How utterly… ironic.” Lunging forward, the warlock swung Lasair and took Joralin by surprise, cutting deeply into the left side of his face. Even as this was happening, Joralin severed the head of the warlock. “Kill this” he uttered as the body collapsed to the marshy ground. Leaning down to reclaim Lasair, Joralin paused. The left side of his face was numb, and he could not see out of that eye. Looking into the mirror-like blade of Lasair, Joralin peered out of his right eye to se that the warlock’s strike had cut to the bone on the left side of Joralin’s face. He knew then that he would never see out of that eye again.
Skin: Pale skin from staying inside and working at the forges.
Identifying Marks: A large scar on the left side of his face, obliterating his left eye completely.
Appearance: Strong, honorable, but never aloof.
Strengths: Physical Strength.
Joralin was educated in the art of swordplay by his father, a retired guard. He is not the most skillful, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for in brute strength.Weaknesses and fears: Joralin is not the best at archery. He has practices, but never seems to hit his target unless it is with Lasair. He takes time to adjust to new places, and never fully trusts anyone. Also, after that deadly duel in the swamp, he is constantly wary of magic users.
Religion and cults: (I do not know what gods there are now)
Profession: Joralin is a skilled blacksmith, and a capable enchanter. Enchantments are the only form of magic that he has come to be completely comfortable with. He even had his sword, Lasair enchanted.
Backstory
After his battle with the warlock, Joralin slept in the warlock's hut. He knew that the evil had been exterminated from the area and was content. In the morning, he decided that even though Moorwich was a swamp, even though all sorts of evil creatures dwelled there, he would make it his home. He would conquer the land that had taken his vision, that had changed his hair. He would not let his wariness and fear get in the way. Using his muscles obtained from long hours sweating over the forge, Joralin set out to tame Moorwich.(To be continued…)
