BurgerSlave/Jarrol
Jarrol
Jarrol Mornson was born to royalty. His family has been the Chief Family of the White Stag tribe for many generations. It was a privilege bestowed upon his family by the Scarlet Empress, five hundred years ago, when they bent knee and offered her homage. Since then, the White Stag tribe has enjoyed the protection and prosperity as one of the Realm's satrapies. They trapped ermine and mink for their Dragon Blooded rulers, and mined the blue jade near their homestead, sending a tribute of five talents a year to the Blessed Isle. For a long while, this was good.
Jarrol himself was a strong lad, brought up to lead the tribe when his time came. Though he was taught how to live off the land and respect the spirits of his ancestors, as was the White Stag way, he was also taught to speak the language of the Realm, and learned the sutras of the Immaculate Order, as was right and proper for a tributary prince. His only wish was to become a strong and forthright leader like his fathers before him. It was even remotely possible that the Dragons might ignite the Essence within him and make him Exalted. It was uncommon, but the Chief Family had borne a Terrestrial Exalt once every few generations. Why could it not be him?
Jarrol came of age and took a wife, as was expected of him. Not long afterward, his father became too old to lead the tribe. Jarrol shaved the chieftain's cleft in his beard and assumed the ermine mantle of his office. He became proud father of four children. Once every season, he would meet with the Realm's satrap to deliver his tribe's tribute of fine furs and jade. For a long while, it was good.
But then, the news came that the Scarlet Empress had taken leave of the Imperial City, for an extended period of reflection upon the state of her Empire. That season, the satrap demanded two talents of jade, and half again the usual load of furs. He said that the Realm had fallen upon hard times, and it was the responsibility of all to help shoulder the burden, as repayment for the prosperity the Blessed Isle had shared with all its wayward children over the years. Jarrol was dismayed by this sudden change, but he paid the tribute all the same. It would mean lean times for his tribe, but at least it would secure the Realm garrison for another season.
The next season, the satrap asked for three talents of jade, as well as half again the usual load of furs. Jarrol could only shake his head. The tribe needed that jade and those furs, he said. Without them, they could not barter for food, clothing, and supplies. He offered two talents and the regular load of furs, which made the satrap shake his head and click his tongue. He concluded that, if the White Stag tribe was having such hard times keeping itself fed, then perhaps the Realm should lighten the burden. Thus, the Realm garrison was reduced in strength from a wing to three talons. As the soldiers departed the homestead, Jarrol decided he did not like the way things were headed, and he yearned for the Scarlet Empress to return and set things to right.
For the next year, this behavior continued. The satrap would demand three talents of jade and half again the usual load of furs. Every season, Jarrol could not quite meet the satrap's demands. Thus, a few more soldiers would be withdrawn from the garrison and returned to the Blessed Isle. By the time the year was out, there was only a token force of a single scale, barely enough to patrol the walls of the homestead. And still, the Realm demanded its extra tribute. On the eve of Calibration, Jarrol met with the tribal council to discuss things. The extra tribute had made the folk of White Stag paupers, with barely enough to feed their children and clothe their wives. The mines would soon be played out, and mink and ermine became rarer and harder to find. If something was not done soon, they would all surely starve.
It was then that Jarrol made the hardest decision of his life, but it had to be made for the good of his tribe. That next season, when the satrap arrived to receive his tribute, Jarrol refused to part with a single jade obol or scrap of fur. Since the Realm had fallen upon such hard times, he said, then perhaps it was best if White Stag looked to itself rather than rely upon the Blessed Isle for help.
Predictably, the satrap was infuriated by Jarrol's audacity. As he left empty-handed, he informed Jarrol that they would soon be seeing the legions in White Stag again, very soon. Only this time, their spears would be levelled at his people, rather than their enemies.
The damage had been done, and there was no going back. For better or worse, White Stag was on its own and facing a forceful occupation from the Realm within weeks. While they had maintained a standing militia, they had always relied upon the Realm's garrison for military protection. Jarrol had read in the sutras the fate of those barbarian peoples who had dared to defy the Realm. To think that he would be remembered as the chieftain that had sown the destruction of the White Stag tribe was more than he could bear, and he fled into the cold wilderness, overcome by grief and fear.
In his despair, Jarrol did not see where his flight had taken him, until he found himself surrounded by the ancient pines of the White Stag's sacred grove. The druids of his tribe would bury the chieftains here, so that their flesh might nourish the ancient trees and keep their spirits close by. There, among the sacred trees, Jarrol wept and begged his ancestors for help. He had failed as chieftain, for the tribe was surely doomed. It was then that the sky seemed to darken, and Jarrol saw through his tears that the moon had blocked out part of the sun, making a golden smile in the sky.
"Do not despair, my Chosen," the smile seemed to say. "I have seen your plight, and I grant you my favor. Go among the peoples of Creation. Let your voice be heard. You shall find allies, and they shall find allies, and it shall be your voice that brings them into harmony." It was in that moment that Jarrol was Exalted to the Eclipse Caste, and he instantly knew what it was that he had to do in order to save his people.
Jarrol knew that it would take some weeks for the Realm to marshal the legions and get them to the White Stag homestead. Within that time, he would be able to travel the lands of the North to seek out allies for aid. And this is what he did. He found that he was not alone in his plight. Many former satrapies of the Realm had begun to withhold their tribute, and thus declared their independence from the Blessed Isle. With the mark of the Unconquered Sun on his forehead, he was able to secure the support of these many tribes, joining them one by one into the Northwind Tribal Council. Alone, none of them had chance to resist even a weakened and tottering Realm. But together, they would make the Scarlet Dynasty think twice about attacking any of them.
His spirits lifted by his success, Jarrol trekked farther into the North, determined to continue his quest to unite all the tribes of the North. There was still time before the Realm's armies landed, for he had learned the fate of the Tepet legions at the hands of the Bull of the North during his travels. But it was during this trek that his fortunes were to take a turn for the worse.
While searching out the elusive and legendary Ice Bear tribe, Jarrol was set upon by a pack of omen dogs. During his panicked flight, he managed to blunder his way into one of the deep bogs left by the spring thaw. He struggled hard to free himself from the deadly muck, but was soon exhausted. No sooner had he resigned himself to an ignoble and muddy grave, an unexpected rescue came in the form of Eirik, son of the Ice Bear tribe's chieftain. He drove away the omen dogs with his shuriken and pulled Jarrol out of the sucking mire. So impressed was he that Jarrol was determined to swear a life-debt before the lad's chieftain.
Imagine Jarrol's surprise, then, when upon meeting Brunor Frostbeard, he found himself remembering the burly old Lunar. Their souls recognized each other instantly, for they had been husband and wife in another time. It presented a dilemma, for Jarrol had a faithful wife and four children who respected him. But he could not deny his need to be with his mate of old, and it was not long before he was returning to White Stag with his newfound lover and a pledge of alliance between the two tribes.
Now, three years later, the Northwind Council stands proudly and defiantly against the decadence of the Realm. They rival the Haslanti League and the Icewalkers for strength and influence, thanks to the three Exalts that stand behind it. Jarrol, Brunor, and Eirik have formed the Brotherhood of Sun, Moon, and Stars, and have sent out a call for any other Exalts who wish to join them in defiance of the Realm. For his part, Jarrol continues to mediate between the various tribes of the Council, fulfiling his duty as a speaker and diplomat. He hopes to one day reconcile with his wife and children, who have left him out of anger for his betrayal of them. Though he finds comfort in Brunor's arms, he still feels guilt for betraying them. However, his own happiness must wait, for the tribe must always come first. That is the proper way of things.
Image: Jarrol is a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man in his early 40s. His craggy features are leathery and windburned from days out in the Northern sun. Like most of his tribesfolk, his hair is the white of fresh-fallen snow, and he wears his long and loose in a thick, shaggy mane. His deepset eyes of glacial blue are keen and clear, with a piercing, discerning gaze. He wears his whiskers long, but neatly trimmed, with a bushy mustache curling down his cleft chin and sweeping up to join sideburns. He keeps his chin cleanly shaven as a mark of his position. He dresses in a manner appropriate for one of his tribe--a heavy hide tunic (embossed with orichalcum studs by the Ice Bear shaman, Mammoth), yeddim-skin breeches, knee-high fur-lined boots, and a heavy woolen undershirt. Over that, he wears the chieftain's mantle, leather cloak with heavy ermine at the shoulders. His deep baritone voice is clear and concise, with the distinct brogue of his people, no matter what language he speaks. He is fond of strong drink and exotic tobaccos for his pipe, preferring the more flavorful blends out of the East. Though he is quick to laugh, his expression is often stern and serious.
Statistics
Name: Jarrol Mornson
Nature: Leader
Caste: Eclipse
Anima: A silhouetted black stag's head, with filmy white-gold flame licking around the edges, much like the sun during a full solar eclipse.
Strength 3, Dexterity 3, Stamina 3
Charisma 4 (Commanding), Manipulation 4 (Trustworthy), Appearance 3
Intelligence 2, Perception 2, Wits 3
Favored Abilities: Melee 3, Presence 4, Survival 3, Endurance 3, Lore 3, Bureaucracy 1, Linguistics 3 (Airtongue, High Realm, Low Realm, Riverspeak), Ride 3, Socialize 4
Abilities: Athletics 3, Awareness 1
Backgrounds: Artifact 1 (orichalcum hide armor), Backing 5 (White Stag tribe), Contacts 3, Resources 2
Virtues: Compassion 2, Conviction 3, Temperance 2, Valor 3
Virtue Flaw: Heart of Flint
Advantages: Willpower 6, Essence 2 (Personal 12, Peripheral 30)
Charms: Excellent Strike, Harmonious Presence Meditation, Listener-Swaying Argument, Integrity-Protecting Prana, Chaos-Repelling Pattern, Whirling Brush Method, Letter-Within-A-Letter Technique, Sagacious Reading of Intent, Wise-Eyed Courtier Method, Mastery of Small Manners
Merits: True Love +3, Terrestrial Bloodline +1, Lucky +3, Eternal Vow +3
Flaws: Barbarian -1, Enemy (estranged wife and children) -3, Known Anathema -3, Greater Curse -3
