Name: Jericho of Crossingtree
Age: 22
Race: Elkin (anthro elk)
Fur Color: Honey brown
Eye Color: Mahogany
Height: 6' 3” (plus antlers)
Weight: 214 lbs
Occupation: Agent of Light
Personality: First and foremost, Jericho is a servant of the “One.” His faith in his god is undying and unshakable—he would stop breathing if he believed the One willed it. He is soft-spoken, choosing to let his eyes and his hands speak more often than his tongue, and he tries to always be kind and sympathetic, though he can often become stern.
Appearance: Jericho is of average height for his kind. He’s thin but well-built (most of his weight coming from his antlers and skeletal system), with fur a soft shade of amber-brown on his back, head, and limbs, and light honey down the front of his neck and his torso. Depending on the season, his antlers may be at different stages of development.
History: Born in the small village of Crossingtree in a small forest in central Raiaerea, Jericho was raised like most any other. His father, a woodworker, enjoyed consistent if not lucrative trade with the elves, and he kept his family comfortable. He taught his two sons both his craft and his faith, to which they took readily. The older, Caanen, was always the more pious and dextrous, but Jericho did just fine.
Until he was sixteen.
Caanen had never really approved of Jericho’s choice in friends, and neither he nor his father was surprised when a group of the young bucks took Jericho out to drink on his birthday. They warned Jericho against the idea but knew trying to keep him home would only make matters worse—so they let him go.
The youths got hold of some beer from a careless vendor and proceeded to engage in all manner of rather bizarre antics. It was all bad breath and raucous laughter—until they ran into the girl.
Ironically, the more-sober Jericho was the only one to touch her. His friends, long lost to the alcohol, goaded him on the whole way—but all the while, something scratched at the young stag’s mind. He wasn’t drunk. The others had drained off the flasks before they came to him. He’d had some—and that was what made him keep going. Because he told himself he was drunk. It wasn’t really his fault. He couldn’t stop himself.
But it was a lie. He could have...and it was the lie that saved him. He didn’t have much of a hangover in the morning, and he remembered to run.
The crime was punishable by death in Crossingtree. The girl’s father, along with most everyone in the village, was clamoring for Jericho’s neck by midday—but he was long gone by then, stowed-away in an elven trade wagon.
He often thought it would have been better if he had been drunk. They still would have hanged him—but he wouldn’t have had to remember. He could remember every detail of the night clearly, as if it had happened only moments before. The smell of his own breath, the grit on the streets, the terror in her eyes.
The noose would have been quick. The memories were killing him slowly.
He managed to stay undiscovered until the trader reached northern Raiaerea. The merchant was less-than-pleased to learn where his extra food stores had been sneaking away to and threw the young elk out at the base of the Daggers.
Jericho climbed. He knew it was foolish. He’d heard that no one ever came back from those mountains. But then—he didn't really want to.
He lasted three days, feeding on sprouts of mountain berries and laurel. But above the treeline, such things were scarce. There, the winds were unforgiving, and the water was frozen in shards of ice. Eventually, the cold won out, and he finally laid down to die.
That was when something extraordinary happened. Shimmering lights, shining cascades of brilliance, unfolded across the sky. Every hue he could imagine, and several he could not, opened up around the summit, like something from a dream, and in them, Jericho felt a Voice.
Despite his trembling, he managed to rasp, “Who are you?”
A man's name is that by which he is recognized. Therefore, that by which I am recognized—that is my name. My name is the soldier who stands his ground at the gate against impossible odds, so that his family, by his death, might have one more moment to escape. My name is the friend who bears the blame of his companion's crime. My name is the mother who picks up an orphan and calls him her son. My name is Truth, my name is Sacrifice. My name is Salvation, my name is Love.
And then he knew he stood in the presence of the One.
He bowed low before the Lights and prepared for his judgment, but no bolt of righteous wrath fell upon the slope. There only came a whisper.
I have not come to end your life, Jericho. I have come to redeem it.
He didn’t understand, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. His crime was detestable, and he felt like he had desecrated and corroded his very soul. The only penance was death—he knew this.
I have paid your penance.
It was then that his tongue finally loosened. “W…why?”
Because I love you, Jericho.
“How…how could you…”
Because I am, Jericho. I have crafted something great in you, and though you hide it from the world and even from yourself, you cannot hide it from me.
He cried, then. His heart seemed to gush upon the stone in his tears. It was something he could not comprehend—that the purest, highest One could love him after what he had done. And yet a truth greater than reality itself resonated in the words of the Light.
“Please…please forgive me…”
Somehow, the Light smiled.
Come, Jericho. And I will make you whole.
The Light rushed into the chasm of his soul and filled it with a fire that transcended the earth, the sun, and all the stars. It was like a lightning bolt, blazing across a midnight sky and illuminating, if only for a moment, a long and winding road ahead, one that led not to a hangman's noose or an icy end atop a mountain. It was a road leading ever eastward to the Dawn.
Weapons: A self-carved quarterstaff, plus his hooves and antlers.
Skills:
> Racial advantages: Enhanced hearing (big ears), speed (long legs), endurance.
> Basic carpentry (son of a carpenter, comes with the territory)
> Faith: Jericho's faith in his God grants him many abilities to use in his work. The catch: The power is not his own. Any ability granted by his faith can only serve the purposes of the One—if he steps outside the One’s will, they become useless.
- Heed My Words: Jericho is in tune with the moving of his spirit, which grants him a kind of very advanced intuition. He tends to know when someone needs help or get a bad feeling if someone is following him. Such messages are always very vague—prompting him toward some action without revealing why. He’ll feel led to talk to someone, ask if they’re all right, but won’t know anything about them or their situation. He might just feel the need to stand at a certain street corner for a few minutes, without knowing his next “charge” is about to pass by. In combat, this ability elevates Jericho's staffwork to masterful, as he listens to the One to guide his hands.
- Fear Not, the Way is Clear: Opens paths. Clears obstructions on trails (up to half-ton boulders), parts medium-sized rivers, opens most locks, etc.
- Miracle: Jericho is used to seeing the One do the impossible. Usually, this takes the form of absurd luck, bordering on the supernatural. (Can only be used with the permission of all other players.)
- Strength of Another: Jericho can supernaturally heal most any wound, given enough time. Minor lacerations and bruises can be repaired in a few moments; fractured or broken bones take several minutes; damaged organs can take up to half an hour; more severe wounds can take hours or even days. He can heal himself, but this is less reliable (and more time-consuming) than healing others.
- Light Shines in the Darkness: Jericho releases a beacon of light from his palm. Useful for lighting dark places and repelling undead, vampires, and other such creatures of shadow.
- He is my Refuge: Jericho projects an ethereal shield to keep himself or others from harm. Such barriers don't get much bigger than 6' in diameter and can repel most physical or magical attacks; however, resisting heavy blows is severely jarring for Jericho and prevents him from maintaining a barrier for long under significant punishment. More often, wreathing his staff in a shield for quick parries is a better tactic than forming large barriers. He can also throw shields at opponents with significant force, though such strikes cause little damage beyond heavy bruises and the occasional fractured rib.
Equipment: A nice warm cloak, a steel carving knife, and a stash of various edible and medicinal herbs, bandages, and whatnot.
Familiars: None as of yet, aside from the occasional angel who drops by to chat.
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