Discord Id -Tordek
Previous Characters Tordek (Vanguard), Langan Nemeis, Jor'Did
Character Name -Jor'Did
Character Race & Sub-Race- Human
Character Description - 5'11", Orange hair, mediocre
Shard Plot Line - Jor'Did owes his life to the Diety Manea He serves one master, his Diety. Whether or not that suits the secular realms, that is up to those houses to decide for he has One Master above All. Allegiance to any particular house is fleeting as any circumstance dictates. When one puts God above House it is certain to rattle some feathers and soothe others. It is not for him to decide his fate, his is merely one whom plies his trade in the service of his interpretation of his Diety's demands.
Special Role-play Ability- None
Backstory - 400 wds +
Ice. The water was frigidly cold. Hot. The summer sun seared his skin exposed through the tattered remnants of what remained of his shirt. Brown. The stirred mud as it obscured his eyes. Burn. His eyes were irritated by the disturbed water as they darted back and forth. Heavy. He could feel the way the man's body pressed him against the bottom of the creek. Sharp. He could feel each and every creekbed stone press against the skin of his chest. Pain. He could feel the blade pierce his back. Scream. It was the only thing he could do. Soft. The way his last breath of air felt as it enveloped his face in large broken bubbles. Full. As he drew a full breath of the murky water. Fear. His vision began to recede from the edges as a neon static enveloped the rest. He could feel the waning bursts of his adrenaline subsiding. Quiet.
The rolling wheels of the cart mesmerized him. The way the stone and dust was lifted by the trailing edge, the spinning of the spokes, the creaking of the axle.
"Jor'Did!" His gaze was broken.
"Your Momma's calling you! You dipshitted bastard whore cunt!" Viktor, the son of the town's Blacksmith, shouted.
Viktor was an irregularity in the town. His Father had crafted the Manor Lord such a fine piece of armor that in recompense his son was allowed to pal around with the Noble sons. And Viktor certainly did not shy away from that fact.
Jor'Did's eyes darted to the tavern where a fairly well weathered whore was leaning against the door frame. Her skirt was lifted showing the worn and mud laden lace underneath.
"That's not my..." Jor'Did's words were cut short by a full cow plod striking his face and erupting in a hundred shards of manure shrapnel.
He waited a moment to gather himself as the remaining plod slowly slid his face.
In just as quickly as the plod arrived, the spin of the wagon wheel and the dust kicked up by it signaled their departure.
"...Mother..." his voice trailed off.
He drew a deep breath and sighed as he wiped his eyes on the cloth of his right arm.
He was used to ridicule and sadness. Being an orphan raised in the local Orphanage he was accustomed to the evils that lurked within. The muffled screams, the cloth in the mouth begging to be bit... but this was an affront he could not bear. He was not a child anymore, he was a Man.
His eyes reddened and swelled with tears. Not with self pity, but with anger. His tongue slid between his teeth and his upper lip. With a suction he drew his tongue back across his teeth sharply to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed. He took a deep breath and in that brief moment he understood what he had to do.
It wasn't long to learn the routine. Viktor would always wait for the wagon every other Thursday. He'd wait by the Carpenter's stall, always early never wanting to be left out.
The Carpenter was a drunkard; he rarely arrived before noon. His apprentice an orphan; from the same orphanage. It was a rather easy opportunity.
Dawn broke on that Thursday.
It didn't take much to muscle Viktor into the Carpentry stall much to Jor'Did's surprise. A solid strike to the back of his head was all it took; there wasn't much of a fight. He strapped him to the bench.
SPLASH.
He threw a bucket of water upon Viktor's face.
GASP!
Jor'Did grabbed Viktor's jaw as he leaned over him.
"So you threw with what hand?!" He screamed at him, a drop of saliva dropping onto Viktor's chin.
Viktor could only muffledly scream through the cloth in his mouth.
"Both then?!" Jor'Did shouted.
He grabbed a rip saw and in three pushes sawed off Viktor's right hand, then followed it with three pushes for his left. Blood poured onto the floor.
He jumped up on the table straddling and kneeling over Viktor. He tore the cloth from his mouth as he shouted, "I AM JOR'DID! I AM NOT A WHORE CHILD BASTARD!" Viktor's skin began to pale, his eyes darting. Jor'did reached for the nearest tool he could find which was an awl.
"LOOK AT ME!" he screamed as Viktor's adrenaline raged. Viktor's eyes darted around in a frenzy pausing only to focus on small minute details before Jor'Did plunged the awl into Viktor's eye socket. Viktor fell limp.
Jor'Did slumped over Viktor's dead body for a brief moment befor he heard a commotion of horses. Viktor was noticed missing. It was time to run.
Jor'Did fled the stall and ran down to the creek as fast as he could before feeling a heavy strike to the back of his head.
Ice. Hot. Brown. Burn. Heavy. Pain. Scream. Soft. Full. Fear. Quiet.
Then there was a voice in the Quiet.
"This is not your End, my Child" Manea echoed to him.
With a heavy THUD, Jor'Did awoke to find himself wedged upon a rocky outcropping. He reached his hand towards his back and found a healed yet bloody wound.
He slid his tongue between his teeth and upper lip and drew it back. The metallic taste of his own blood was inciting.
"NO!" he shouted and then paused.
"This is My Birth...!"
This will be an rpcss char
Previous Characters Tordek (Vanguard), Langan Nemeis, Jor'Did
Character Name -Jor'Did
Character Race & Sub-Race- Human
Character Description - 5'11", Orange hair, mediocre
Shard Plot Line - Jor'Did owes his life to the Diety Manea He serves one master, his Diety. Whether or not that suits the secular realms, that is up to those houses to decide for he has One Master above All. Allegiance to any particular house is fleeting as any circumstance dictates. When one puts God above House it is certain to rattle some feathers and soothe others. It is not for him to decide his fate, his is merely one whom plies his trade in the service of his interpretation of his Diety's demands.
Special Role-play Ability- None
Backstory - 400 wds +
Ice. The water was frigidly cold. Hot. The summer sun seared his skin exposed through the tattered remnants of what remained of his shirt. Brown. The stirred mud as it obscured his eyes. Burn. His eyes were irritated by the disturbed water as they darted back and forth. Heavy. He could feel the way the man's body pressed him against the bottom of the creek. Sharp. He could feel each and every creekbed stone press against the skin of his chest. Pain. He could feel the blade pierce his back. Scream. It was the only thing he could do. Soft. The way his last breath of air felt as it enveloped his face in large broken bubbles. Full. As he drew a full breath of the murky water. Fear. His vision began to recede from the edges as a neon static enveloped the rest. He could feel the waning bursts of his adrenaline subsiding. Quiet.
The rolling wheels of the cart mesmerized him. The way the stone and dust was lifted by the trailing edge, the spinning of the spokes, the creaking of the axle.
"Jor'Did!" His gaze was broken.
"Your Momma's calling you! You dipshitted bastard whore cunt!" Viktor, the son of the town's Blacksmith, shouted.
Viktor was an irregularity in the town. His Father had crafted the Manor Lord such a fine piece of armor that in recompense his son was allowed to pal around with the Noble sons. And Viktor certainly did not shy away from that fact.
Jor'Did's eyes darted to the tavern where a fairly well weathered whore was leaning against the door frame. Her skirt was lifted showing the worn and mud laden lace underneath.
"That's not my..." Jor'Did's words were cut short by a full cow plod striking his face and erupting in a hundred shards of manure shrapnel.
He waited a moment to gather himself as the remaining plod slowly slid his face.
In just as quickly as the plod arrived, the spin of the wagon wheel and the dust kicked up by it signaled their departure.
"...Mother..." his voice trailed off.
He drew a deep breath and sighed as he wiped his eyes on the cloth of his right arm.
He was used to ridicule and sadness. Being an orphan raised in the local Orphanage he was accustomed to the evils that lurked within. The muffled screams, the cloth in the mouth begging to be bit... but this was an affront he could not bear. He was not a child anymore, he was a Man.
His eyes reddened and swelled with tears. Not with self pity, but with anger. His tongue slid between his teeth and his upper lip. With a suction he drew his tongue back across his teeth sharply to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed. He took a deep breath and in that brief moment he understood what he had to do.
It wasn't long to learn the routine. Viktor would always wait for the wagon every other Thursday. He'd wait by the Carpenter's stall, always early never wanting to be left out.
The Carpenter was a drunkard; he rarely arrived before noon. His apprentice an orphan; from the same orphanage. It was a rather easy opportunity.
Dawn broke on that Thursday.
It didn't take much to muscle Viktor into the Carpentry stall much to Jor'Did's surprise. A solid strike to the back of his head was all it took; there wasn't much of a fight. He strapped him to the bench.
SPLASH.
He threw a bucket of water upon Viktor's face.
GASP!
Jor'Did grabbed Viktor's jaw as he leaned over him.
"So you threw with what hand?!" He screamed at him, a drop of saliva dropping onto Viktor's chin.
Viktor could only muffledly scream through the cloth in his mouth.
"Both then?!" Jor'Did shouted.
He grabbed a rip saw and in three pushes sawed off Viktor's right hand, then followed it with three pushes for his left. Blood poured onto the floor.
He jumped up on the table straddling and kneeling over Viktor. He tore the cloth from his mouth as he shouted, "I AM JOR'DID! I AM NOT A WHORE CHILD BASTARD!" Viktor's skin began to pale, his eyes darting. Jor'did reached for the nearest tool he could find which was an awl.
"LOOK AT ME!" he screamed as Viktor's adrenaline raged. Viktor's eyes darted around in a frenzy pausing only to focus on small minute details before Jor'Did plunged the awl into Viktor's eye socket. Viktor fell limp.
Jor'Did slumped over Viktor's dead body for a brief moment befor he heard a commotion of horses. Viktor was noticed missing. It was time to run.
Jor'Did fled the stall and ran down to the creek as fast as he could before feeling a heavy strike to the back of his head.
Ice. Hot. Brown. Burn. Heavy. Pain. Scream. Soft. Full. Fear. Quiet.
Then there was a voice in the Quiet.
"This is not your End, my Child" Manea echoed to him.
With a heavy THUD, Jor'Did awoke to find himself wedged upon a rocky outcropping. He reached his hand towards his back and found a healed yet bloody wound.
He slid his tongue between his teeth and upper lip and drew it back. The metallic taste of his own blood was inciting.
"NO!" he shouted and then paused.
"This is My Birth...!"
This will be an rpcss char
![[Image: Dali-Signature-3.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/BsVPPHZ/Dali-Signature-3.jpg)
