John When
Age: unknown, over 65, looks older.
Race: Drykas
Gender: Male
Born: Endrykas
Tongues: Common-fluent
Pavi-basic
Shiber-poor
John When was a god among men, quick with his sword and wit. He had the sort of smile that could make women swoon and inspire admiration in his fellow men. He spent his youth hunting glassbeaks in the Sea of Grass, his adult years working as a bounty hunter. During his years as a man he sired no less than seventy-five illegitimate children. He could crush a man's head in his bare hands and avoid getting blood spatter in his hair. He was unbeatable in battle, handsome and strong. He was known across all the land for his skills in tracking dangerous beasts. He was both feared and loved, resented and pined for.
Then he got old.
Little Johnny When was born with no name, no clan and one boon to his person, which was a talent for fighting. He was passed from tent to tent by those who sought to make a good Drykas out of him and failed. By the age of ten he had built a reputation for himself that neatly filled the spaces that should have been provided by his clan. John When, the self made man, was charming, persuasive and vicious. He had the stride of a pavilion heir and he told himself he didn't need more than that when he was a clan of one. His youth had made him strong and capable and very, very angry.
His worst flaw and saving grace was that he could contain it. Not his drive, everyone could see that. From the girls who found him intriguing to the boys that felt uneasy in his presence. He could be so very charismatic, when he wanted to be, when he wanted to cause mischief and didn't know it. The men he admired thought it was a phase, the restlessness that young adults grew out of. It was the mothers that knew better because they watched him carefully and pitied him and feared for him and tried to steer him away from destruction with small acts of kindness, even as they kept their children away from him when they could.
He killed his first Glassbeak when he was fourteen. It had been small, sick and lame, though it had still managed to surprise him out on the Sea of Grass as he napped, careless as a fool. He'd slit its throat as it gored him and he was trapped beneath the carcass until his horse was spotted, galloping towards the city of Endrykas. He didn't wake for over a week and when he did, he found himself scarred and on the recieving end of a great deal of attention. And he liked the attention. He needed it, as he would come to need wine, beer and loud company. He learned how to use a sword with greater dexterity. He learned who was best at tracking and made a friend of him. His name was Werrin.
Werrin died on their fifth hunting trip and John decided to cut his hair and leave Endrykas for better or worse. He met his first Strider on the way out. He doesn't know it but every Strider he has ever ridden has been Werrin, reincarnated. If he knew, he would better understand why the horse seems to periodically try to kill him. Less frequently with time, of course. Not frequently at all, anymore.
Werrin knows now that John is trying to die, he just doesn't have the will to do it properly.
Leaving Endrykas did little to improve John's humour but it provided him with experiences that would forge him into a better man. Working as a bounty hunter introduced him to a mire of moral ambiguity. For the first time in his life, he had friends who were driven by the same forces as he was. In watching them break and heal he came to know himself better. He learned empathy, though only after years of drinking, hard living and womanising. He still has mixed feelings about this period of his life, though he misses the camaraderie and the easiness of it all.
He liked being a legend in his time. He'd only ever felt unsettled during the quiet moments and there had been few of them. Now they're almost all he has. No one remembers him now and he finds he prefers the anonymity, if only because he would be embarrassed for anyone to see how the mighty have fallen. He also annoys less people at taverns. Even he can acknowledge he used to be a bit of a dick.
Countenance: John was once an incredibly handsome man, though his looks were marred by a habitual, challenging smirk. Age has mellowed him considerably. His face is now lined but no longer twisted by confusion and anger. His hair has bleached from a rich brown to an austere grey. His skin is tanned from the sun and lined with pale scars. John's eyes are the colour of blue slate and though they are still guarded, they are no longer as hard as they were when he was young. Though he now looks gentler, he is still muscled from hard work and training and he always carries a sword by his side. He is now just a handsome man and he no longer has the allure of the unknown.
John is around six feet tall, possesses no windmarks and is extensively scarred. The most prominent is a series of claw marks on his chest from his first encounter with a Glassbeak. He has a tattoo of an eagle on his left bicep.
Inner Aspect: John has lived a difficult and violent life, largely of his own choosing. He was once a complicated and angry person, who lived for the thrill of seeking glory at the risk of life. He has known little love and thus does not know how to give it in return. His choices have left him with no lovers or even lovers who became friends. His compatriots have all died at the sword or succumbed to inner demons and fizzled out of existence before their time. Only John survives, now finding himself as literally alone as he used to feel metaphorically. There is no longer an audience for his harsh front and he has found himself wondering why he remains after everyone else has gone. He doesn't even know if his children wish to know him as he does not know where they are. His experiences have humbled him decades too late. John now has a quiet sense of who he is, along with a deep sense of regret. John still retains a way with people but thankfully ceased pulling them along in his wake. He is no longer a violent man, though he is capable of violence, he lacks a taste for it. He would kill himself but the idea appalls him. He now waits to die and while he waits, to see what is to be seen.
Superstitions: John considers Lhex to be behind his current circumstances and while he does not pray to the god, he often leaves him tributes during his darkest and most whimsical hours. He calls on Eyris, though he knows it is vain and once a season he prays to Dira to take his life away for this very reason. He thinks on Uphis whenever he sharpens his swords and Akajia whenever he is on the hunt. He no longer worships Myri and has abandoned the steadfast patronage he once gave her.
Prefers: Good company, quiet moments, decent food and looking after Ugly.
Disfavours: People who remind him of himself when he was young, old choices, ranged weapons and squash.
Moral Dictums: Never hurt children, kill cleanly, remember mistakes and always look after horse and sword.
Loyal Dog: Bozderon shadow dog. John raised her from a puppy, which he bought out of pity for the terrible state its owner had let it fall to. Once covered in parasites and sores, John named her Ugly. She is now quite a healthy looking dog, so the name doesn't fit as well as it used to. She is as well loved as any dog has ever been and returns that sentiment with all the loyalty she has.
Less Loyal Horse: Werrin's soul took a long time to start to forgive John for his effective complicity in his death. John's saving grace has always been that Werrin knew he was damaged before their final hunt and came to realise the extent of it when he was reborn on the Sea of Grass. John's horse would not run through great calamity to save his rider but he is a better horse than most and has prevented John from reaching harm on multiple occasions. His current name is Firestride but John usually calls him Big'un because he is built like the Cyphrus Strider equivalent of a brick shithouse. He's a buckskin with a dorsal stripe and little tolerance for fools.
Age: unknown, over 65, looks older.
Race: Drykas
Gender: Male
Born: Endrykas
Tongues: Common-fluent
Pavi-basic
Shiber-poor
The Gist:
John When was a god among men, quick with his sword and wit. He had the sort of smile that could make women swoon and inspire admiration in his fellow men. He spent his youth hunting glassbeaks in the Sea of Grass, his adult years working as a bounty hunter. During his years as a man he sired no less than seventy-five illegitimate children. He could crush a man's head in his bare hands and avoid getting blood spatter in his hair. He was unbeatable in battle, handsome and strong. He was known across all the land for his skills in tracking dangerous beasts. He was both feared and loved, resented and pined for.
Then he got old.
The Rest:
Little Johnny When was born with no name, no clan and one boon to his person, which was a talent for fighting. He was passed from tent to tent by those who sought to make a good Drykas out of him and failed. By the age of ten he had built a reputation for himself that neatly filled the spaces that should have been provided by his clan. John When, the self made man, was charming, persuasive and vicious. He had the stride of a pavilion heir and he told himself he didn't need more than that when he was a clan of one. His youth had made him strong and capable and very, very angry.
His worst flaw and saving grace was that he could contain it. Not his drive, everyone could see that. From the girls who found him intriguing to the boys that felt uneasy in his presence. He could be so very charismatic, when he wanted to be, when he wanted to cause mischief and didn't know it. The men he admired thought it was a phase, the restlessness that young adults grew out of. It was the mothers that knew better because they watched him carefully and pitied him and feared for him and tried to steer him away from destruction with small acts of kindness, even as they kept their children away from him when they could.
He killed his first Glassbeak when he was fourteen. It had been small, sick and lame, though it had still managed to surprise him out on the Sea of Grass as he napped, careless as a fool. He'd slit its throat as it gored him and he was trapped beneath the carcass until his horse was spotted, galloping towards the city of Endrykas. He didn't wake for over a week and when he did, he found himself scarred and on the recieving end of a great deal of attention. And he liked the attention. He needed it, as he would come to need wine, beer and loud company. He learned how to use a sword with greater dexterity. He learned who was best at tracking and made a friend of him. His name was Werrin.
Werrin died on their fifth hunting trip and John decided to cut his hair and leave Endrykas for better or worse. He met his first Strider on the way out. He doesn't know it but every Strider he has ever ridden has been Werrin, reincarnated. If he knew, he would better understand why the horse seems to periodically try to kill him. Less frequently with time, of course. Not frequently at all, anymore.
Werrin knows now that John is trying to die, he just doesn't have the will to do it properly.
Leaving Endrykas did little to improve John's humour but it provided him with experiences that would forge him into a better man. Working as a bounty hunter introduced him to a mire of moral ambiguity. For the first time in his life, he had friends who were driven by the same forces as he was. In watching them break and heal he came to know himself better. He learned empathy, though only after years of drinking, hard living and womanising. He still has mixed feelings about this period of his life, though he misses the camaraderie and the easiness of it all.
He liked being a legend in his time. He'd only ever felt unsettled during the quiet moments and there had been few of them. Now they're almost all he has. No one remembers him now and he finds he prefers the anonymity, if only because he would be embarrassed for anyone to see how the mighty have fallen. He also annoys less people at taverns. Even he can acknowledge he used to be a bit of a dick.
Countenance: John was once an incredibly handsome man, though his looks were marred by a habitual, challenging smirk. Age has mellowed him considerably. His face is now lined but no longer twisted by confusion and anger. His hair has bleached from a rich brown to an austere grey. His skin is tanned from the sun and lined with pale scars. John's eyes are the colour of blue slate and though they are still guarded, they are no longer as hard as they were when he was young. Though he now looks gentler, he is still muscled from hard work and training and he always carries a sword by his side. He is now just a handsome man and he no longer has the allure of the unknown.
John is around six feet tall, possesses no windmarks and is extensively scarred. The most prominent is a series of claw marks on his chest from his first encounter with a Glassbeak. He has a tattoo of an eagle on his left bicep.
Inner Aspect: John has lived a difficult and violent life, largely of his own choosing. He was once a complicated and angry person, who lived for the thrill of seeking glory at the risk of life. He has known little love and thus does not know how to give it in return. His choices have left him with no lovers or even lovers who became friends. His compatriots have all died at the sword or succumbed to inner demons and fizzled out of existence before their time. Only John survives, now finding himself as literally alone as he used to feel metaphorically. There is no longer an audience for his harsh front and he has found himself wondering why he remains after everyone else has gone. He doesn't even know if his children wish to know him as he does not know where they are. His experiences have humbled him decades too late. John now has a quiet sense of who he is, along with a deep sense of regret. John still retains a way with people but thankfully ceased pulling them along in his wake. He is no longer a violent man, though he is capable of violence, he lacks a taste for it. He would kill himself but the idea appalls him. He now waits to die and while he waits, to see what is to be seen.
Superstitions: John considers Lhex to be behind his current circumstances and while he does not pray to the god, he often leaves him tributes during his darkest and most whimsical hours. He calls on Eyris, though he knows it is vain and once a season he prays to Dira to take his life away for this very reason. He thinks on Uphis whenever he sharpens his swords and Akajia whenever he is on the hunt. He no longer worships Myri and has abandoned the steadfast patronage he once gave her.
Prefers: Good company, quiet moments, decent food and looking after Ugly.
Disfavours: People who remind him of himself when he was young, old choices, ranged weapons and squash.
Moral Dictums: Never hurt children, kill cleanly, remember mistakes and always look after horse and sword.
Loyal Dog: Bozderon shadow dog. John raised her from a puppy, which he bought out of pity for the terrible state its owner had let it fall to. Once covered in parasites and sores, John named her Ugly. She is now quite a healthy looking dog, so the name doesn't fit as well as it used to. She is as well loved as any dog has ever been and returns that sentiment with all the loyalty she has.
Less Loyal Horse: Werrin's soul took a long time to start to forgive John for his effective complicity in his death. John's saving grace has always been that Werrin knew he was damaged before their final hunt and came to realise the extent of it when he was reborn on the Sea of Grass. John's horse would not run through great calamity to save his rider but he is a better horse than most and has prevented John from reaching harm on multiple occasions. His current name is Firestride but John usually calls him Big'un because he is built like the Cyphrus Strider equivalent of a brick shithouse. He's a buckskin with a dorsal stripe and little tolerance for fools.