Jack

'''Jack was an unfortunate orphan or (more probably) an abandoned bastard boy born in Moxia. Left on the doorstep of the Honorhall orphanage, he joined a small cadre of other forsaken children and infants. '''

Grelod the Kind, a paragon of the community ran the orphanage by herself, taking the burden of caring for the youngsters left to the wayside by the rest of the town. She was an -- obviously-- kindly old woman who went above and beyond to get her charges into the proper homes and families they so desperately needed.

Except Jack.

Jack was told, without any shadow of a doubt, that he would never be adopted, that he didn't deserve it, that he was the worst glob of scum to ever be scraped off the bottom of a boot.

For reasons forever unknown to him, he and he alone was abused on a regular basis. He would be taken to a back room where he was bound in irons and beaten, starved, and in-general tortured for hours or even (but only a few times) days on an end.

Grelod the Kind succumed to the winter’s chill before, assuming she even had the intention, she could explain why she did what she did, or felt the way she had

Afterword, others took over the orphanage -- after all someone  had to look after the kids. The new management consisted one apathetic guild hireling after another, and a few short term matrons who stomached sacrificing a few months of their lives to watch out for the brats... and gain quite a bit of respect from their peers for their  selfless  actions.

The desire to get the orphans adopted by someone, anyone, tripled with each passing week.

When volunteers inevitably ran dry for town-orphan-matron, the community leaders simply dumped the kids upon anyone who could make use of them, as live-in servants, farmworkers, <span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">footstools <span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">, it didn't matter, so long as the community member could abide and afford the cost of another <span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">mouth to feed.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">This is how Jack ended up living, though more often working, on a farm. At first he was relegated to simple, tedious odd-jobs, but when harvest season came about they had him in the fields from dawn to dusk.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">If Jack were honest -- to himself as much as to anyone else -- he would admit that he was imagining every wheat stalk was actually one or another person who hurt him at some point or another in his life. More often than not Grelod, but his farmer overlord also found himself upon the imaginary chopping block as well. Jack was a very imaginative child and a very productive worker.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">One could say Jack was crazy, but they would be wrong. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">It just so happens that Jack was is only <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">mostly <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;"> crazy. There's a big difference between mostly crazy and all crazy. Mostly crazy is slightly sane. With all crazy, well, with all crazy there's usually only one thing you can do...

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">Moving on.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">As he began to grow into a young man, he was actually trusted enough to work the forge in the farm's blacksmith. He made a few mistakes, but only a few. He picked up the hammer and anvil like a fish to water.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">At this point Jack was teetering on the cusp of manhood, would there be a beautiful young farmer's daughter to sooth Jack's damaged mind, heart and soul? Of course not, Jack is not that lucky.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">No, there was a farmer's daughter, but she was an ugly bitch.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:15px;line-height:normal;white-space:pre-wrap;">Naturally.

One day while hammering horseshoes back into shape, Jack was approached and offered out-of-the-blue a founders position in a brand new guild. He immediately raided the farm's blacksmith of all its valuables and walked away without single itch of regret. You see, even apathetic guild flunkies are as angels compared with a irrationally abusive old woman, or an explotative farmer and is freak-like she-spawn and ever since he first learned of their existence, Jack has been a rabid fan of guild history, and has always dreamed of becoming famous, respected, and feared.

Protecting people has never been on his agenda. Screw people.

As a nineteen year old man, Jack is a somewhat enlongaged skeleton tightly wrapped in overused, cable-like muscles. Jack's eyes are often half-closed, though a closer look would reveal that for whatever reason he suff--has heterochromia -- Jack suffers many things, but Heterochromia is not one of them, his right eye being reddish-purple and the left distinctly red. His plain and too-old-to-be-nineteen face is gaunt-enough to be uncanny, a subtle sign of his lifelong malnutrition, a condition that has left him significantly weaker than one might expect. Life was never easy for Jack, being forced to work despite his hunger and weakness has built him into a tremendously tough only mostly crazy man. Jack is also surprisingly dexterous and capable of impressive displays of fine motor control and quick-witted reactions -- perhaps natural for a boy of his genius. He was always easily the smartest person he knew, given his age, easily able to out-think and out-wit those around him. The trauma he endured left him with nothing but an iron will, a surprisingly healthy sense of paranoia, and a mild social disorder.

Oh, and a few dozen bitchin' scars.

Jack’s life has granted him exceptional skill at working a blacksmith’s forge, a surprisingly good eye for appraising the value of most objects, all manner of athletic abilities, a freakish knowledge of guild politics, a spectacularly blunt brand of scary, shockingly accurate paranoia, and finally an enthusiastic dedication to escaping bonds.

Jack wields an overly large Scythe as his weapon of choice. He easily recognizable by his trusty wide-brim fedora, favorite (and only) leather duster, hardy dingo boots (seriously, you need good footwear working like he does), and fingerless leather work gloves -- all well-worn and sunbleached black.

Likes:

Himself, because he is awesome.

Albor, because he is the only other sane man.

Rufus, because he kicks ass.

Current big-names at the battle arena, though he plans to destroy them utterly in the arena one day.

There is that one guy with the traps and the bow, he seems okay.

Dislikes:

People who have gotten on his bad side.

Actually most people, screw people.