Jameson Kindle [W.I.P.]

[Jameson Kindle]

Name: Jameson Kindle Gender: Male Race: Human Age & Birthdate: 30th Day of Fall, 483 A.V. / 28 years of age

[Jameson Kindle]

”With the right amount of determination, I can make even my most ailing weaknesses into my most dominant strengths." Jameson’s body towers above most humans at approximately 6’2” and weighs in at 210 pounds. His frame sports a set of wide, muscular shoulders atop a stack of chiseled abdomen. With long legs, he is happily donned with a set of proportionately long arms, though they do not press into a level in which one would label them abnormally apparent. His face is set with a prominent chin and jawline, masculine and strong. Deep set, greyish blue-green eyes crown just below a pair of dark brown eyebrows. This dark honey brown color is matched by his thick head of hair and long eyelashes. His face is often littered with stubble. Though he usually keeps his hair and facial hair short, he has been known to let it grow out on a whim for amusement purposes. His skin has been bronzed to a healthy, golden hue from his years of work in the sun with his father. Having been subjected to his father’s way of farming most of his life, he has found it necessary to wear comfortable clothes that can easily be added or taken from to better suit the day’s weather. This set usually consists of a set of long, dark brown fitted trousers held by a belt, dark leather riding boots, a loose white shirt, a long wool coat, and a set of thin work gloves for easy malleability. Jameson suffers from monocular blindness in his left eye. It’s not something that could be noticed simply by looking at him, but he often shares it with those he converses with. He fears that others notice that he stares or squints rather hard, especially when looking into the distance, or trying to read someone’s facial expression. The disability is caused from an eye injury, rather than a genetic disorder or injury to the occipital lobe of his brain. Despite this, he will still often blame the abnormality on being born with undeveloped nerves in his eye. Though the injury itself only affected his left eye, he was already born with poor eyesight, making him practically blind in his right eye as well. He relies primarily on his other senses and concentrates a dedicated effort to honing these senses so that he may be able to better protect himself in the dangerous lands of Mizahar. On his right shoulder blade, spanning straight across to the backside of his right arm, is a long, thin strip of discolored skin that is often mistaken for a birthmark. In actuality, it is a scar from a brand, an “accident” that befell him in his teens that he prefers not to speak of. Over the years, with physical growth, the scar has subsided and transitioned to an altered hue, though it is still very notably visible.

[Jameson Kindle]

”This is who I am. Accept me, or leave me.” Jameson was born to James and Cecilia Kindle, an accidental child. James had wanted to remain with solely his wife, no children, no family, stating that children only “get in the way.” He was an abusive man, both physically and verbally, and yet Cecilia remained kindhearted and sincere. She found it in her best interest to keep her mouth shut, and to do as James demanded. When along came this bouncing baby boy, her little bundle of joy was not particularly accepted by his new father. The small family lived in a large tent, fending for themselves and living off the land in a distant temperate region that Jameson remains unsure of to this very day. Now being presented with a child, he had twice as much to provide for, twice as much to protect. This did not sit well with him. Jameson’s only saving grace was his mother’s shielding arms. She treasured him like none other in her life, and threatened to take her own life should James find it necessary to take their son’s. At the age of eight, his father forced Jameson to start learning to work. He placed heavily burdening tasks on him for a child his age. He was expected to stand in the sun and keep watch for hours at a time. When he failed or was noticed to be distracted, James would strike him to the ground, and make him continue his watch. This sort of discipline taught Jameson the importance of focus and meditation. As he grew older, his father expected him to accompany him with a pail so that they may return home with water. He was forced to carry objects twice his size, whether he had to drag them or not. He was without much education, but learned what he could from his mother, who always kept his best interests at heart. Life dragged by slowly until Jameson crowned adulthood at age eighteen. His father’s actions and judgments became harsher with the years. The physical abuse grew in severity, the cruel shoves manipulated now by anger and disregard into full-fledged swings at his face. James, seemingly always in a rage, sat beside the fire outside the tent in the cool Fall of 493 AV. With a heavily gloved hand, he poked at the flames with a metal rod. When Jameson returned with the water pails for the night, his father inspected them to find small grains of sand along the lip of the buckets. Practically nitpicking for something to seethe about, he began screaming at Jameson for his insolent behavior, accusing him of being careless and stupid. He took the rod from the flames and hit Jameson across the back with it, searing through his shirt and skin. That night he was left to lay unattended outside of their tent home. Jameson awoke the next morning to his mother’s weeping. Her face was swollen, her eyes red. She knelt over him in misery, afraid to touch him, and taking the blame for the incident. Upon further inspection of his mother’s weary face, he found her lip to be split, her eyes dark not from lack of sleep but from being bludgeoned by James. Fury welled up inside of him, and yet a since of respect for his father still shackled him from taking action. His mother dressed his wounds, and they continued silently together about their own business. That season, Jameson noticed a decline in Cecilia’s ability to cope and manage every day normal activities that she once considered leisurely. The weight fell from her body, her eyes sank in, her skin took on a pallid, pasty hue. She died in her sleep just before winter, and Jameson wept for days. His father cursed him, telling him she died of sadness and a broken heart for her son that would never amount to anything in this world. Though his fury welled up again, he could not bring himself to fell his father. But inside, he knew why his mother had died. Yes, of heart break… For a husband who loved not his own family, but only himself. Jameson buried his mother, and laid by her grave, weaving grasses for her. He promised to her that he would do something for this world. He would find a way to help others, and remain gracious and giving even in the worst of times, for what is the world to become if someone doesn’t step up? As his father slept that night, having not shed a single tear, Jameson found his shackles to be dissolved, and he left his father to rot alone. Without his mother’s smile to get him through each day, he decided it was time to find something else that would. He traveled for years, only the family horse for company, passing through cities and settlements occasionally, taking what he could learn, giving what he could spare. He eventually crossed over into the region of Kalea, and decided to make a home out of the region.

[Jameson Kindle]

”To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream. Not only plan, but also believe.” Skills Blind Fighting – 10/100 Meditation – 15/100 Wilderness Survival – 15/100 (Racial Bonus) Intelligence – 15/100 Riding: Horse – 10/100 Carving - 5/100 Listening - 4/100 Observation - 5/100 Logic - 3/100 Rhetoric - 3/100 Equipment & Possessions 1 Set of Clothing (see physical description post) 1 Waterskin A large set of saddlebags Fishing tackle and hooks 1 Backpack which contains: -1 Set of Toiletries (comb, brush, soap) -Food for a week -1 eating knife -1 large tent (4 person) -large tarp -100 ft of rope -flint & steel -bedroll & blanket -a full set of tack -1 small piece of parchment: Chiet Income: 300 pinions a season Tax: 135 pinons a season Profit Kept: 125 pinions a season Expectations: Daily work at least eight hours a day and two days off in every ten. The chiet are healthy males and females of the population that are skilled and smart enough to be left to their own devices. They are given a similar work schedule as the dek, though the labor is repetitive and often tough, the labor is not dangerous. Some of the common jobs of chiet are polishing mirrors that allow sunlight throughout Wind Reaches caverns. Some are farmers during the spring and summer, going down to bay to plant rice, or cleaning work areas, placing tools and supplies back where they belong. Chiet can be consider scholars and scribes, though the writing of knowledge and history is important, Wind Reach is much more concerned about where they will find their next meal. Cheit meals are hearty affairs that are considered plain but very filling meals. They eat stews, soups, roasts, and have a wide variety of vegetables fruits and nuts available as well. Horse: Gildling, "Espinosa" Lores Losing Mom Hating Dad Keeping Quiet to Avoid Trouble Enthralled by Carving Accepting Granyl Weavr’s tutelage Carving (incomplete) Learning the tools of the carving trade His very first lopsided eagle Making Trinkets for a girl Beginners Pain - Splinters Beauty in a thing made by hand Languages Fluent – Common Basic – None Poor – Nari Gnosis Lykata, granted by Eyris / 1st mark Ledger 100 pinions -8 pinions (boarding mare in stable for one season) _____________________________________ 92 pinions Thread List Show Me the Way [Aidara] (in progress)

[Jameson Kindle]

Gnosis Thread Timestamp: Flashback / 29th Day of Fall, 484 A.V. / Late Night Location: Kalea Region, Somewhere between Denval and Wind Reach. Purpose: Traveling, via horse. There was a chill in the air as the sounds of night startled Jameson from his sleep. His body ached from the day’s ride across the terrain and the excavations of the day’s discovery. His eyes sagged wearily. From where he lay he stretched his toes out to their very limit, feeling the curling, tensing sensation crawl all the way up his spine and neck. Outside Espinosa, his Gildling mare companion, was making a fuss, her tail swishing against the canvas of his tent. As he shifted to the side where she stood, he leaned up onto an elbow. Next to his bedroll sat a small chunk of ceramic. The outside was smoothed more than the inside. It was coated in a milky grey glaze that, when in the sun, caught the glint of the sun and glimmered like glass. With a hand numbed from sleep, he reached out and picked it up, settling back down. As he examined his find, he felt its texture and weight. How fascinating, to be able to make pottery and decorate it as one wished. He wondered at the same time, who would spend so much of their time and talent to create something so lovely only to have it broken and left behind? What he would give to know how to create something with his own two hands. Better yet, what he wouldn’t give to meet the one who created such an artifact! As he turned it over in his hands, he thought of all the things in the world he had seen (or tried to see.) The world was full of interesting things. Some of these things dated back since before even the Valterrian. Structures, art, land masses, artifacts… The list went on and on. As he thought, it occurred to him that everything came from somewhere. Things didn’t just spring up out of nowhere. Someone had to have the knowledge and ability to create things, to build them. Things such as jewelry were created and then handed down from family member to family member. How curious… Jameson sat up and placed the piece back next to his bedroll. As he did so, he heard the whisper of the wind creep into his tent through the open flap. Open flap. With a jolt he was on his rear end, clenching the blanket covering his near naked body. Even with his poor sight, he could see the flap being blown lightly with the autumn breeze. Nervously he jumped to his feet, cursing when he hit his head. Someone was in his tent and had Espin in a tantrum. Though he turned a full circle in his four person tent no one could be found. It wasn’t as if an intruder would have had anywhere to hide… He honed in on his senses, listening, smelling, reaching with a shaking hand out in front of him. Breath settling, he knelt down to his pack at his feet to dig for his eating knife. He grasped its hilt firmly in his palm and fingers, holding it out in front of him. His chest continued to heave as he gave his tent one last glance over as he focused himself, pulling his nerves together. In…. Out…. He settled and righted himself, finally accepting that it must have been the wind, or even the ever mischievous Espin, that had tugged his tent flap loose. Knife still in hand, Jameson peered outside of his tent squinting to see if anyone was outside. With a click of his tongue, he called Espin near to the entrance. As she beat the ground with a hoof, he came out to greet her. She was seemingly unharmed, much to his confusion. ”Such a fuss, lovely Espin… Did an animal spook you? Or are you laughing at your prank on me?” Thankful for the Gildling’s natural glow-in-the-dark coat, he reached up to caress her muzzle. Curious creatures roamed Mizahar, and here by his side he was sure he had one of the most faithful. Despite her ever-teasing habits, she had been by his side for years, assisting him on his escape from his home so many years ago. And yet, how many years had it been? Nearly ten, maybe? Had it really been that long? As he continued to pat Espin’s nose, he sighed, ”Maybe I’m just turning into a paranoid old man, girl. I don’t think that sorry excuse for a father and husband would bother with coming after me. He lost everything he ever had, whether he cared about us or not. I suppose I’m conditioned to be afraid.” Espinosa replied with a quiet whicker. The reassuring noise dropped a comforting blanket on his heart and soul, leaving him to settle. With one last touch of endearment, he turned to return to his tent. Tenderly, he stepped in, and turned to tie the flap back shut, and then came the sound of breathing. His heart palpitated as he stood still as he could manage, knife in hand. He swallowed. Any assassin or bandit or what have ye would have struck him down by now, right? Jameson spun on his heel, and dropped the knife at what stand before him. ”Mother…?” The word left him with a pained expression, as if he had been kicked in the chest. Upon further inspection, the beautiful young woman before him was not his mother, but a close resemblance. Practically a mirror image! Embarrassed now, he blushed. He could not bring himself to look her in the eyes, and yet she reached a hand out to beckon him closer. Entranced, he stepped forward with his right foot, but then stopped and shook his head. ”You, who are you? And how did you get into my tent?” His voice was low and curious, void of offense. He swallowed, trying to muster his courage to speak with strength to this beautiful dark-headed woman. His defenses dropped as he viewed her, seeing all the same similarities as his mother. A memory of running with her through the grasses of their home… Her long, silky dark hair blowing in the breeze behind her… The woman was once lean and elegant, not frail and weak as he so frequently remembered her. What he wouldn’t do to see that lovely face again, to look into her dark grey eyes, to see her enlightening smile, to be held in her arms. His eyes welled with the thought of the constantly beaten wound. And here stood this woman, here to tear that stitched piece of him open again. Nevertheless, he remained collected and calm. At last she spoke to him, in a voice that reminded him of his mother. But she couldn’t be…. A ghost? ”Young Jameson Aurion Kindle, come closer so that you may ease your weak eyesight and see me more closely.” A gasp parted his lips. Surely he had met this woman before! Or maybe it was his mother as a ghost! Without another word, he drew closer to her, just close enough to see her face, but far enough away to allow her privacy. His eyes saw a less blurry frame before him now. She was slightly taller than his mother though shorter than him, with more pronounced features, and thicker, darker hair. Something was in her eyes, something prevented him from gazing down into them. Tentatively, he tilted his head to the side to hear her out. ”I have been watching you, Jameson. You have overcome the obstacles in your life through focus, reasoning, and determination. You have fascination for trinkets and their origins. I recognize you suffer, too, from a sort of blindness.” She turned and walked across his tent, pausing to nudge at little things in his tent. When she turned back to him, she said, ”I am here to offer you a cure of sorts, if you will…” ”A cure? You can’t cure this, madam.” He held his hands out in desperation. ”But I am willing to hear you out.” ”You mustn’t be so narrow minded. You will bypass the chance at gaining the magnanimous gifts that are wisdom. You think I speak in circles, but if you use your inner eye to think, you will understand. To think, to focus, to meditate, all in the name of gaining knowledge. You never stop learning.” Being the uneducated man he was, this woman’s words left him dizzily searching for a plausible explanation for why this woman had appeared to him. And yet she wouldn’t tell him. He had to figure it out himself. And what was this cure she spoke of? A cream? A liquid? An herb? He had never heard of such a thing. And yet… There was something he had heard of… Again, he thought back to his mother, and he recalled stories she told him. “Fairy tales” according to James. They had to speak in secret, and yet he had been intrigued by the ideas of Gods and Goddesses that could grant them marks of power. Could this woman be a Goddess? ”You’re a Goddess.” He stated, and as he thought, he searched his memories for talk of one who was sage and intelligent. ”Forgive me, I’m not educated in faith or religion. My father – “ “Your father James prohibited your mother Cecilia from teaching you about her beliefs. She did what she could, Jameson.” Again, Jameson was taken aback at her vast knowledge of his life and family. Knowledge! That’s it! Excitedly, he snapped his fingers together a couple times and replied, ”You! You’re that goddess my mother used to praise so highly! Wisdom, Knowledge… It’s how you know who I am! You’re, uh, Err… Eye…. Eyris… Eyris!” With a faint smile Eyris, Goddess of Wisdom, replied, ”To seek with logic is to eventually find, Jameson. I will propose this to you… I will grant you a vision like none other, but you must use it to further your knowledge during your life time. You must then use this knowledge for the good of the land that is Mizahar. I will not make this offer again.” The wind having been metaphorically knocked from his chest, he simply sputtered for a moment. Something was off. The Goddess of Wisdom wanted to cure his blindness, but how? He deduced that she would grant him something akin to her own specialty. And yet he wanted to know how. The more he juggled it around in his head, the more curious and inquisitive he was. He wanted to see what her gift to him would be. She had picked him specifically, and wouldn’t be extending the offer at a later date. With a nod, he said, ”I accept the honor you’re granting me.” Again came the smile from Eyris, and she held her right hand out to him. As he approached and reached his right hand out to touch her, she quickly jerked her hand back away. She said, ”Other hand, like this…” and held her hand out palm-down. As he repeated the example with his left hand, she hovered her fingertips above the top of his wrist, and with an elegant swirl, the strand of lights sank down into his hand right below his wrist. There was a significant amount of tingling that erupted through his whole body, like static, and for a moment he felt internally overwhelmed. His senses were dulled for the slightest of moments before being restored. On his wrist now was glowing, silvery grey Lormar symbol… The color of his mother’s eyes. A sense of understanding ran through him. He knew how to access and utilize her gift. ”Remember, Jameson. To accomplish great things, you must be willing to reach out and find what it takes to make them happen. Search for the knowledge to know what needs to be done. Search for the wisdom to know how to accomplish it. Use this gift wisely.” As she spoke, he gazed down curiously at the newly appointed mark on his hand. Indeed, he would have to honor her. And as he looked back up to thank her for her generosity in granting him her gift, she was gone. For a moment, he thought the exchange had been a hallucination, but as he looked back down to the glowing mark on his hand, he simply knew… He simply knew it was not.