Jericho
03-30-07, 12:15 AM
Name: Jericho of Crossingtree
Age: 22
Race: Elkin (anthropomorphic elk)
Fur Color: Honey brown
Eye Color: Mahogany
Height: 6’ 3”, plus antlers
Weight: 195 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. Aside from that, Jericho is soft-spoken, choosing to let his eyes and his hands speak more often than his tongue. He is almost always kind and sympathetic, though he can become stern—but never harsh. He hates arguing and avoids it at all cost. That said, he doesn’t flee from conflict. He will always jump to someone else’s aid.
Appearance: Jericho is of average height for his kind. He’s on the thin side, but is well built. He sees his body as a gift from the One, and therefore keeps himself physically strong and fit. His fur is a soft shade of amber-brown on his back, head, and limbs, and light honey down the front of his neck and his torso. His antlers branch impressively out of his skull—at his age, they are just less than full-size.
History: Born in the small village of Crossingtree in Raiaerea’s Red Forest, 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, which they took to 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.
He hadn’t drank that much. 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.
Really, the lie 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 quicker. 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 really didn’t 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.
The One was there. There, atop the mountain, Jericho met God.
He bowed low before the Lights and prepared for his judgment, but no mighty 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 restore 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?”
I love you as a son, Jericho.
“How…how could you…”
Nothing you could ever do could lessen my love. It will outlast the sun, the stars, and all the heavens, Jericho. I have always, and forever will, love you, my son.
He cried, then. His very heart seemed to gush upon the stone in his tears. It was something he could not comprehend—that the purest, greatest One in all the universe could come to love him after what he had done. And yet—there was a truth greater than reality itself resonating in the words of the Light.
Come to me now.
Just when he thought all his tears were spent, more came. His whole body shook.
“Can…please…please forgive me…”
He didn’t know how he knew. But the Light smiled.
Come, Jericho. And I will make you whole.
The Light touched him. It rushed down into the very chasm of his soul and filled its every part with a fire that transcended the earth, the sun, and all the stars.
He stayed there, upon the mountaintop, for over a month. He never grew hungry, or thirsty, or tired. He lived in fellowship with his greatest Friend.
But eventually, he came down again. The Light was too great to stay on a mountaintop. He came back down, to follow the guidance of the One to those in need, that they who are in the shadows might see the Light once more.
Skills:
Below-average staff combat: He is the son of a carpenter, after all. However, physical combat is certainly not his arena of choice.
Racial Advantages: Slightly-enhanced hearing (big ears) and speed (long legs).
Basic Carpentry: 'Nuff said.
Faith: His faith grants him many abilities to use in his work for the One. 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 very in tune with the voice of the One. The One guides him to people in need, so he tends to know when someone needs help. Likewise, he might get a bad feeling if someone is following him. Such messages are always very vague, though. 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. Also applies to combat: for one post (battle) or one minute (quest), elevates Jericho's Staff Combat to proficient, as he listens to the One to guide his hands.
Fear Not, the Way is Clear: Opens paths. Clears small obstructions on trails (up to sapling-sized), parts shallow water, opens simple locks, etc. Used up to twice a thread.
Miracle: For Jericho, the extraordinary is commonplace. He’s used to seeing the One do the impossible. Usually, this takes the form of absurd luck, sometimes bordering on the supernatural. Can only be used once a thread, only in quests, with the permission of all other players.
Strength of Another: Jericho can heal mild injuries, up to one or two fractured bones. He can heal himself, but this is much less reliable 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. Lasts one post (battle) or five minutes (quest).
Equipment: A nice warm cloak, a self-carved oak staff, 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 (which counts as a Miracle).
Age: 22
Race: Elkin (anthropomorphic elk)
Fur Color: Honey brown
Eye Color: Mahogany
Height: 6’ 3”, plus antlers
Weight: 195 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. Aside from that, Jericho is soft-spoken, choosing to let his eyes and his hands speak more often than his tongue. He is almost always kind and sympathetic, though he can become stern—but never harsh. He hates arguing and avoids it at all cost. That said, he doesn’t flee from conflict. He will always jump to someone else’s aid.
Appearance: Jericho is of average height for his kind. He’s on the thin side, but is well built. He sees his body as a gift from the One, and therefore keeps himself physically strong and fit. His fur is a soft shade of amber-brown on his back, head, and limbs, and light honey down the front of his neck and his torso. His antlers branch impressively out of his skull—at his age, they are just less than full-size.
History: Born in the small village of Crossingtree in Raiaerea’s Red Forest, 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, which they took to 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.
He hadn’t drank that much. 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.
Really, the lie 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 quicker. 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 really didn’t 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.
The One was there. There, atop the mountain, Jericho met God.
He bowed low before the Lights and prepared for his judgment, but no mighty 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 restore 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?”
I love you as a son, Jericho.
“How…how could you…”
Nothing you could ever do could lessen my love. It will outlast the sun, the stars, and all the heavens, Jericho. I have always, and forever will, love you, my son.
He cried, then. His very heart seemed to gush upon the stone in his tears. It was something he could not comprehend—that the purest, greatest One in all the universe could come to love him after what he had done. And yet—there was a truth greater than reality itself resonating in the words of the Light.
Come to me now.
Just when he thought all his tears were spent, more came. His whole body shook.
“Can…please…please forgive me…”
He didn’t know how he knew. But the Light smiled.
Come, Jericho. And I will make you whole.
The Light touched him. It rushed down into the very chasm of his soul and filled its every part with a fire that transcended the earth, the sun, and all the stars.
He stayed there, upon the mountaintop, for over a month. He never grew hungry, or thirsty, or tired. He lived in fellowship with his greatest Friend.
But eventually, he came down again. The Light was too great to stay on a mountaintop. He came back down, to follow the guidance of the One to those in need, that they who are in the shadows might see the Light once more.
Skills:
Below-average staff combat: He is the son of a carpenter, after all. However, physical combat is certainly not his arena of choice.
Racial Advantages: Slightly-enhanced hearing (big ears) and speed (long legs).
Basic Carpentry: 'Nuff said.
Faith: His faith grants him many abilities to use in his work for the One. 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 very in tune with the voice of the One. The One guides him to people in need, so he tends to know when someone needs help. Likewise, he might get a bad feeling if someone is following him. Such messages are always very vague, though. 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. Also applies to combat: for one post (battle) or one minute (quest), elevates Jericho's Staff Combat to proficient, as he listens to the One to guide his hands.
Fear Not, the Way is Clear: Opens paths. Clears small obstructions on trails (up to sapling-sized), parts shallow water, opens simple locks, etc. Used up to twice a thread.
Miracle: For Jericho, the extraordinary is commonplace. He’s used to seeing the One do the impossible. Usually, this takes the form of absurd luck, sometimes bordering on the supernatural. Can only be used once a thread, only in quests, with the permission of all other players.
Strength of Another: Jericho can heal mild injuries, up to one or two fractured bones. He can heal himself, but this is much less reliable 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. Lasts one post (battle) or five minutes (quest).
Equipment: A nice warm cloak, a self-carved oak staff, 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 (which counts as a Miracle).