Post by spacemanspoof on Sept 12, 2015 11:49:57 GMT -7
Name: Jorak
Description:
To outward appearances, Jorak is a typical half-orc. He makes no attempt to hide his orcish features. He is tall and muscular, with his hair tied back in a long braid and his arms covered with tribal tattoos. He wears simple clothing, although a keen observer might notice that they're unusually well-made. What's most striking about him is his demeanor: unlike most of his kind, Jorak exudes an aura of studious, detached calm. One still gets the impression, however, that crossing him would be quite unwise.
About:
Jorak was born in a small orc village. The warriors of the village would frequently prey on merchant caravans which were brave or foolish enough to pass nearby, and Jorak's mother was among the spoils of one such raid. Life in an orc village being what it is, she did not survive long. After she died, a compassionate and childless orc woman took Jorak in and raised him as her own.
Being a half-breed, the other orcs in the village tolerated him but did not consider him a true orc. He was frequently bullied by the other children and sometimes even the adults. As a result, he learned to be quick with his fists and even quicker with his wits. As he grew, he was not allowed to participate in warrior training or other "manly" activities, so he spent most of his time with the women, learning the domestic arts. He especially enjoyed cooking, as he would often covertly retaliate against the bullies by slipping a little something extra into their meals. He also developed a fondness for sewing; the concentration and repetitive motions helped calm and focus his mind after many a miserable day.
Although he could not participate in the caravan raids, he would often follow behind them to watch the ensuing carnage. One such excursion proved to be a major turning point in his life. This particular caravan was different from all the others he had seen - the vehicles had an odd design and were covered with unfamiliar decorations. In addition, the caravan was completely undefended. The "guards", if you could call them that, carried no armor or weapons, merely strolling alongside the wagons. The raiders charged, expecting easy pickings, and the guards silently turned toward them, resolutely gripping their walking-sticks as if facing their impending deaths. As the orcs closed in, the guards suddenly erupted into a flurry of activity. Before them appeared a storm of projectiles, like stones from a halfling slinger company three times their number. The orcs were caught by surprise, but it was too late to halt their charge. Disoriented, their momentum carried them directly into a hurricane of fists, feet, and staves. The battle was over as abruptly as it began, with most of the attackers unconscious and the rest fleeing toward the village. Jorak was impressed. If these puny humans could so easily rout an orc raiding party, perhaps they held the key to achieving his dream. He cautiously approached and asked to join them. The travelers were amused at the idea of civilizing this savage and granted his request.
Jorak learned that the caravan was on a diplomatic mission from a distant Iroran monastery. He traveled with them, learning some basics of their religion and combat arts. He took to the lessons with a vigor that surprised even the monks. Once the journey was over, they returned to the monastery and began his training in earnest.
Jorak spent several years at the monastery. The monks instructed him in both combat and religious practice, as well as the general etiquette and skills for getting along in a civilized society. After a while, though, he felt that his training had progressed enough. He finally had the power to take what he had wanted all of his life. He bade goodbye to his fellow monks and traveled back to his village, where he challenged the chief to a duel for leadership. The orcs were surprised at his return; after his disappearance they had assumed him dead. But the chief, simultaneously amused and curious, accepted the challenge. Like that day many years before, the bare-fisted monk faced down the fully-armed orc warrior. Of course, a novice monk is no match for an orc chieftain, and Jorak quickly found himself on his back staring down the blade of the chief's battle-axe. However, the chief was impressed by his audacity and chose to spare his life, banishing him from the village instead.
As Jorak left the village for the second time, followed by the taunts and jeers of the orcs, he finally learned the crucial lesson that the monks had been unable to teach him: humility. Respect could not be taken by force, it had to be earned. He realized that his petty lust for power and revenge was holding him back from achieving his true potential. He became a wanderer, making a living mostly as hired muscle. Sometimes he travels with the caravans, sometimes he finds work with the local guards or as a bouncer in a rowdy tavern. Occasionally he puts his other skills to use, helping out an innkeeper whose kitchen is short-staffed or whose linens need mending in exchange for room and board. Wherever his journeys take him, he always seeks out new challenges to lead him ever further along the path to perfection.
History & calculations: Link
Description:
To outward appearances, Jorak is a typical half-orc. He makes no attempt to hide his orcish features. He is tall and muscular, with his hair tied back in a long braid and his arms covered with tribal tattoos. He wears simple clothing, although a keen observer might notice that they're unusually well-made. What's most striking about him is his demeanor: unlike most of his kind, Jorak exudes an aura of studious, detached calm. One still gets the impression, however, that crossing him would be quite unwise.
About:
Jorak was born in a small orc village. The warriors of the village would frequently prey on merchant caravans which were brave or foolish enough to pass nearby, and Jorak's mother was among the spoils of one such raid. Life in an orc village being what it is, she did not survive long. After she died, a compassionate and childless orc woman took Jorak in and raised him as her own.
Being a half-breed, the other orcs in the village tolerated him but did not consider him a true orc. He was frequently bullied by the other children and sometimes even the adults. As a result, he learned to be quick with his fists and even quicker with his wits. As he grew, he was not allowed to participate in warrior training or other "manly" activities, so he spent most of his time with the women, learning the domestic arts. He especially enjoyed cooking, as he would often covertly retaliate against the bullies by slipping a little something extra into their meals. He also developed a fondness for sewing; the concentration and repetitive motions helped calm and focus his mind after many a miserable day.
Although he could not participate in the caravan raids, he would often follow behind them to watch the ensuing carnage. One such excursion proved to be a major turning point in his life. This particular caravan was different from all the others he had seen - the vehicles had an odd design and were covered with unfamiliar decorations. In addition, the caravan was completely undefended. The "guards", if you could call them that, carried no armor or weapons, merely strolling alongside the wagons. The raiders charged, expecting easy pickings, and the guards silently turned toward them, resolutely gripping their walking-sticks as if facing their impending deaths. As the orcs closed in, the guards suddenly erupted into a flurry of activity. Before them appeared a storm of projectiles, like stones from a halfling slinger company three times their number. The orcs were caught by surprise, but it was too late to halt their charge. Disoriented, their momentum carried them directly into a hurricane of fists, feet, and staves. The battle was over as abruptly as it began, with most of the attackers unconscious and the rest fleeing toward the village. Jorak was impressed. If these puny humans could so easily rout an orc raiding party, perhaps they held the key to achieving his dream. He cautiously approached and asked to join them. The travelers were amused at the idea of civilizing this savage and granted his request.
Jorak learned that the caravan was on a diplomatic mission from a distant Iroran monastery. He traveled with them, learning some basics of their religion and combat arts. He took to the lessons with a vigor that surprised even the monks. Once the journey was over, they returned to the monastery and began his training in earnest.
Jorak spent several years at the monastery. The monks instructed him in both combat and religious practice, as well as the general etiquette and skills for getting along in a civilized society. After a while, though, he felt that his training had progressed enough. He finally had the power to take what he had wanted all of his life. He bade goodbye to his fellow monks and traveled back to his village, where he challenged the chief to a duel for leadership. The orcs were surprised at his return; after his disappearance they had assumed him dead. But the chief, simultaneously amused and curious, accepted the challenge. Like that day many years before, the bare-fisted monk faced down the fully-armed orc warrior. Of course, a novice monk is no match for an orc chieftain, and Jorak quickly found himself on his back staring down the blade of the chief's battle-axe. However, the chief was impressed by his audacity and chose to spare his life, banishing him from the village instead.
As Jorak left the village for the second time, followed by the taunts and jeers of the orcs, he finally learned the crucial lesson that the monks had been unable to teach him: humility. Respect could not be taken by force, it had to be earned. He realized that his petty lust for power and revenge was holding him back from achieving his true potential. He became a wanderer, making a living mostly as hired muscle. Sometimes he travels with the caravans, sometimes he finds work with the local guards or as a bouncer in a rowdy tavern. Occasionally he puts his other skills to use, helping out an innkeeper whose kitchen is short-staffed or whose linens need mending in exchange for room and board. Wherever his journeys take him, he always seeks out new challenges to lead him ever further along the path to perfection.
History & calculations: Link