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+---- Thread: Jorah Seyda (/showthread.php?tid=4351)
Jorah Seyda - Aicasarto - 07-25-2021
Upon a first glance, it is difficult to initially place where Jorah comes from. He is lean and his skin is pale, his eyes dark, hinting at a Mulan heritage. Yet his hair is a surprising dark red tone, something that can be mistaken for brown until the light hits it. His whole appearance hints at a rougher life spent on the road: dust-stained boots, rough leathers that have seen wear, a comfortable dark cloak, and hair which changes length depending on when he can cut or shave himself.
The lute that he carries in a case, though, is something that he has apparently taken care of. The wood is dark and rich, polished to a shine, and sometimes he may be heard practising a few hoards over a new song. He is well-spoken and his tone rich, good for a bard, or perhaps because of it, though he does not often speak, preferring instead to listen (or, to put it more bluntly, eavesdrop.)
He does not answer any questions about where he is from and who he is aside from his name, and treats everyone around him with a somewhat base suspicion, though he is not entirely opposed to interacting with others. This is why it is perhaps contradictory to often see him with a strange druid woman, but he likes this unpredictability anyway.
(Chaotic Neutral)
RE: Jorah Seyda - Aicasarto - 07-27-2021
The method upon which Jorah hit the bed of their rented room was more akin to a crash than a typical fall, and the healing pains on his body protested at their treatment. He ignored them in favor of giving his muscles a good rest for several minutes, before grabbing his quill from his pack to laboriously write. The symbols that stained the page from the tip of the feather were more like scribbles than letters, but only to those who did not know shorthand.
How to put what just happened into words? Nonsense, of course. But the kind of nonsense that tended to pop up when deities were involved, or rather his companion in particular. He allowed her to travel with him for now, but it seemed that she had further uses aside from being an extra set of eyes.
That damned beggar was certainly trying to get them both killed, Jorah was half-convinced. Why else send them on this mad quest that had them racing on foot in the countryside, having to avoid bandits and marauders and bugbears and whatever other nasty thing prowled about? Not that he was unskilled in avoiding such trouble by any means; with the life he lived one often had to skulk about and skirt trouble. In fact he had skillfully maneuvered their route past what felt like a dozen bands lurking over the open High Road, their own bodies crouched and moving in the grass, darting about groves, running when caught and ignoring the pains of blows and arrows fired at them, until they came to a spot impassable.
A road sloped down, flanked by steep drops and ridges, and bandits awaiting at the bottom. And when they charged and rode them down, Jorah knew they had been caught.
Until that vile…thing showed up. A badger, infected and mad as any he had ever seen, mouth frothing, spittle staining its fur. And of course his companion, mad as the animal itself, conversed with it, praised it, praised Talona…he shivered a little at the thought.
Wild as it was, the creature did help, tearing at bandits with maddened fury, unable to die no matter how many weapons tore at its flesh, until it did drop dead right at the outskirts of Bezantur after it had guided them there. As if planned.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Gods and goddesses…he tried to stay out of such trouble as best as he could, it seemed all too easy to paint a target on his back this way, and any worship he had or performed was tenuous at best. Still, he did suppose he was in debt to one, in a way.
An uncomfortable thought.
RE: Jorah Seyda - Aicasarto - 07-30-2021
Thoughts and memories of recent events were swirling in Jorah’s mind like silt at the bottom of cheap wine. He hated the constant feeling of anxiety and discontent that was bothering him; a pebble in his shoe he could pluck out, but this was a sensation not so easily removed.
He hated being in debt to a goddess, but perhaps it was mostly because his own worship of a “patron”, if it was even strong enough for that, was lack enough. Beshaba did not take kindly to laxness on her part, and he knew he had not done enough for her. But he hardly had any coin left to spare even for a proper tithe before he left Bezantur.
But the wheel turns, the coins flip, but Beshaba always twists them to fall badly.
The bandits must have been guided by her hand, he knew it, but at least the end was quick.
[Retired]