Race: Human
Age: 68
Height: 5'7" (1.6m)
Weight: 130 lbs (59kg)
Eyes: Blue
Hair: None (bald)
Facial Hair Style: Clean-shaved
Appearance: Jonah is an aging man of medium height, and average build. His head is shaved smooth. From the left he seems normal and unassuming, however the right side of his face is a mass of melted flesh and scars. His right eye is fused shut and useless. The scarring, which looks recent, but not new, runs clear down his neck, and disappears down into the collar of his plain gray robes. A red sash is knotted around his waist.
Personality Profile: Jonah is generally quite friendly to everyone he meets, and the warmth of his personality is generally enough to overcome his disfigurement. He is well-traveled, and has many stories to tell of his times on the road, wandering from town to town. He is also prone to a particular melancholy when left to ruminate on things for too long.
General Health: Despite his age, Jonah is in good health. He is certainly not as strong as he once was, but can be surprisingly spry when the need arises.
Deity: Jonah is a faithful and steadfast servant of Ilmater.
Initial Alignment: Lawful Good
Profession: Wandering Layman & Healer
Habits/Hobbies: Fishing with no hook, rowing with no oar, ringing a bell with no clapper, meditation on each of these things, and reading. He is also prone to wandering and exploring, provided it is of no bother to anyone.
Languages: Common, Celestial, Elven
Weapon of Choice: None -- Jonah is a pacifist.
Dale Wimbrow wrote:When you get what you want in your struggle for self,
And the world makes you king for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that man has to say.
For it isn’t a man’s father, mother or wife,
Whose judgement upon him must pass,
The fellow whose verdict counts most in life,
Is the man staring back from the glass.
He’s the fellow to please, never mind all the rest,
For he’s with you clear to the end,
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test,
If the man in the glass is your friend.
You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But the final reward will be heartache and tears,
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.
Goals & Personality:
"It's not often you get a second chance to do things right..."
Jonah's main goal is to escape his past. He dislikes who he was, and wants to forget that person, but scars are scars; while they might fade, they never really go away. One day, he will have to come to grips with this, but until then, he will do everything he can to avoid the Man in the Mirror.
Biography:
I've never had a real last name in my life, really. I was born in a brothel in Luskan to a woman I never knew; either she is dead or never cared to know me. Once I tried to find her, but asking in a brothel for the woman that gave up her child does not draw any sympathy, even if you are said child.
I was raised in an orphanage, given the name Osmund, and the bastards' surname Summer. The Brothers and Sisters of Ilmater gave me kindness and an education in a society which had an abundance of scorn and pity, but little else. When I was twelve, I left to join the City Watch, where I was shown how to swing a sword, and get killed in the name of the Lords.
Life as a soldier is different during times of peace than in times of war. Each has their own troubles. In war, I'm told, it can be all too easy to lose sight of your humanity. In peace, it just tends to corrode over time. My garrison was loyal to the city, inasmuch as could be said about any, however they also liked to make a profit "on the side", and I picked up some nasty habits along the way... Extortion. Bribery. ...Murder. Little was on the table that my comrades, and I by association, wouldn't take advantage of. None of it ever sat well with me, and I could make excuses that I never actively participated in it. But I listened to the screams, to the crying, to the begging, and I did nothing to stop it. I had settled into a life of quiet complacency.
Once we were shaking down a new merchant from Calimshan. He had moved his entire family to the filthiest place on the docks just so he could start a textiles trade. My commander had us all stop by because he hadn't paid his "guard tax" for the month. I must have been maybe thirty, thirty-five by then. Old enough to know the game. Young enough to still play it. The merchant had sunk every copper piece he had into his business, and gave us the last of what he had the previous month. His business had not been doing so well, apparently. I stood guard outside, as was my ilk, and listened to the thump of fist against flesh, and the sobbing of the Merchant's wife. All according to plan. But then things went south; the wet slap of bloodied fists stopped, the wife stopped sobbing and started screaming. Then she stopped as well. I got worried, and peeked inside the window.
Two slumped figures on the floor, and a spreading pool of blood beneath them told me what had happened. I heard hushed arguing among my fellows; the waving of hands, pointing at the two bodies on the floor. This was unheard of. The low-key commotion quieted, and the guardsmen all came out one by one. My commander turned to one of the newer guards; a wiry half-elf with a cruel cast to his face. With a sneer, he summoned power from the Weave, and cast a fireball into the merchants house. My commander puffed and preened at a murder he thought to be well-hidden.
Either they had forgotten, or didn't care, but they didn't account for the third member of the little family that they had destroyed. I heard a little boy's whimper from somewhere beyond the door, and I felt the blood rush from my face.
"Forget him," I heard my Commander say; "one less piece of evidence." The men around him grumbled their agreement.
This was too much. They had gone too far. Up to that point I had gone with the flow my whole life, never had any control or care about my fate. But suddenly, it all came into perspective. Every life had meaning. Every second of pain and fear and anguish was a second too many. I felt my blood go from frozen to boiling in the matter of a moment. My fists balled at my sides, and before I knew what had happened, I had struck out at my Commander with every ounce of apathy and rage and humiliation I had ever experienced. I remember him laying on the cobblestones like a sack of fresh manure, and my comrades staring at me with utter shock and disbelief. With nothing but a high-pitched droning in my head, I turned like an automaton, slammed my guards cloak down into a barrel of rain-water, and ran into that burning inferno.
I yelled for the child, and understood too well why he chose not to answer back. I had just killed his parents and burned down his house. He had no reason to trust me. The cloak began to steam around my shoulders as I threw open burning cupboards and closets. I became dimly aware of shouting outside, and heard the door to the outside slam with a sickening thud. I yelled again, and the boy's fear of the fire must have outweighed his fear of me; when I turned around, he was right in front of me, face dark with soot, except for two clean streaks running down his cheeks.
I tore my cloak off and wrapped it around him as the first timbers fell. We both went to the ground, and I wrapped myself around the boy to protect him from the debris. Without the cloak, the heat was immense and oppressive, and I could feel myself cooking within my own skin. With a crack and a groan, another timber crashed down on the both of us, pinning me to the boy, and the boy to the wall. My flesh boiled and charred. Broken ribs ground against each other and stabbed at my innards. The boy shivered and cried beneath me, and in my helplessness, I prayed to the only god I knew, the god I hadn't prayed to in decades that, should we burn to death, let the boy die quickly and without pain. I was prepared for the Hells I knew I was destined for, but please, please don't let this boy suffer that fate. For the first time in my life, my prayers were answered.
In a clap of thunder, the facade of the building was ripped away as if in a storm. The immediate release of heat was palpable. In the red and orange glow of the inferno, a white light, like a beam of sunshine illuminated the charred timbers. The fire receded in the wake of this light, and I felt the weight of the timber lifted from me. I turned my head to see a man in the robes of a Priest holding up what must have been half a ton of burning building. His robes were ablaze; his hair was gone, burnt in the first seconds of entering, but he stood above us with a placid, calm expression on his face. He looked down at me, smiling, and grabbed me by the shoulder. He led us from the hell behind us, and out into the street before disappearing in the cool evening breeze. For me, at least, everything went black.
I awoke in a cell. My wounds had been bandaged, but the pain was immense: beyond anything I could have imagined. My memories flooded back to me, and I sat with a start, wincing at the cracking of ribs and the pull of burned flesh against the bandages. A jailer sat opposite the bars. In ragged gasps, I asked if the boy had been pulled from the fire.
"We found him in your arms, wrapped in your cloak. He had some minor burns, and a lung full of smoke, but he'll be fine." the jailor said; "You, on the other hand, are in for a world of trouble. The boy says you killed his parents and burned his home."
What could I say? Between the truth of the matter, and the fire still dancing across my skin, I had no words. I simply flopped back down against the coarse mattress and said; "Good..."
My trial was a formality, mostly. Both the child and my Commander bore witness against me. The child tried to implicate the rest of my fellows, but was silenced. I can still picture the fat old slug sitting on the stand with a purple grapefruit for a nose. I could have died happy then. The magistrate heard the testimony, and sentenced me to death by hanging, when the doors to the courthouse swung open. A man walked in dressed in gray robes, with a red sash around his waist -- a Brother from the temple of Ilmater. I wondered what he could be doing here.
The monk approached the bench, and spoke quietly to the judge, who looked between the Commander, the Boy, and myself. He looked once into the eyes of the monk, nodded, and struck his gavel. "The Accused is to be turned over to the Temple of Ilmater. Should he fail their examination, he will be put to death;" and slammed the gavel once more.
So that is the story of how I died, and of how I was re-born. The Priests heard my story, though somehow they already knew exactly what had happened in the final moments of that burning building, and with that, I was given new purpose to my life. I spent many years with them, and then many years on the road, taking what I had learned out into the world.
Oh -- I should mention, I have a new name now. Osmund Snow is dead. My name is Jonah Goodman... It's a pleasure to meet you.
Loose Ends:
- The Commander, who was severely admonished for his part in the whole affair.
The Boy, who disappeared from Jonah's life after his trial.
The Figure in White, who Jonah never knew, or met again, but has his suspicions about...
