[hider=W.I.P - W.I.P - Jbcool]

[B]Username:[/B] Jbcool 


[B]Character Name:[/B] Jan "The Cleaver" Batten


[B]Race/Species:[/B] A Halfling of Mootland


[B]Gender:[/B] Male


[B]Age:[/B] 37


[B]Career (if any) and Skills:[/B] A Halfling of many skills- from the more natural ones of stealth, light-fingered pilfering, being a dead-eye shot with a bow and arrow/sling to, of course, being a cook of almost unmatched skill...except by other Halflings. Although formerly an inn keeper-cum-chef, he is now a shell of that joyful Halfling, and instead wanders the Old World as a mercenary for hire.


[B]Weapons:[/B] Trained in the traditional art of shooting a bow by his father, long days spent on the village green, he is able to hit just about anything that moves (or doesn't) from a considerable distance. As such, he is never without his sturdy oaken bow and a quiver of arrows, but this is no longer his weapon of choice! Jan prefers, to the dismay of many a friend and foe, to get up close with his enemy, wielding his two-handed butchers cleaver with the proficiency of an actual trained killer. Almost the same height as himself, and always sharpened to a razor-keen edge, it has become his trademark and his nickname as well.


[B]Attire:[/B] Common Halfling travelling attire is what this [i]fearsome[/i] warrior wears; starting from the top and going down, he is garbed in a simple brown travelling cloak with a hood, his head usually covered by a floppy tam O' shanter (look it up). The cloak is then thrown over a simple white shirt, made in the Empire, and over the shirt is tied a tough studded leather jerkin without sleeves. Around his waist is a thick belt with a dull brass buckle, holding up a pair of loose but rough brown trousers. As with all Halflings he is severely proud of his feet, not doing them or himself the honour of wearing shoes of any type. 


[B]Equipment/Other :[/B] Jan carries everything that isn't his weapons in a small back-pack, inside of which are a number of spices and herbs for flavouring, some sloshing bottles of sauces, a few 'snacks' for the road and more than couple of pans. The pans that he does carry are his 'old faithfuls', never failing to produce meals of sublime taste and wholesomeness.


[B]Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.):[/B] Standing at only three-and-a-half feet tall, Jan is not what you would call an imposing figure in terms of height.This he more than makes up for in other ways. Unlike almost all other Halflings he is not the red-cheeked and pot-bellied type, but rather a child-size wall of walking muscle that would make a Dwarf proud! The sleeves of his shirt barely contain the muscles of his arms, his torso like a brick placed on top of short legs, and his feet some of the hairiest ever seen on one of his kind, hairy enough to make any Halfling woman swoon. 

Facially he would be considered 'gaunt' by Halfling standards, even though it is still full enough to look a little over-fed by the measurings of the Big Folk, eyes of green that used to sparkle now glare out from under bushy eyebrows of a brown so dark it is almost black in colour. Like most Haflings he has rather full lips, matched with a thin nose and thick sideburns that almost form mutton-chops on his face, all framed by that unruly mop of curling hair which all Halflings cultivate almost as much as the ingredients for their foodstuffs.

Lastly are his pride-and-joy, his feet; two five-toed marching machines with soles of skin so thick he can walk on sharp and jagged rocks in safety, a fine layer of hair much like that on his head keeping them warm in colder climates. 


[B]Mental Description/Personality:[/B] Damaged would be the best way to describe this tragic Moot dweller, his personality often swinging between fits of joviality and a deep depression. He is happiest when he is cooking or fighting, and is both a loyal and humourous friend for the majority of the time, but if threatened or disturbed he is capable of a much greater rash of violence than anyone would believe of one of his race and stature. Nevertheless, he has an affinity with nature, and with food, as well as an almost Dwarfish dislike for Greenskins...or at least the smaller kind. He believes strongly that food is a guiding light in a world of encroaching darkness, a sort of glue, if you will, that can make or break groups of peoples and creatures- but if food should fail to work, he is just as happy to use violence. 


[B]Background/History:[/B]

Jan was born to an average Halfling extended family, surrounded by nearly hundreds of relatives, spending his early years eating, smoking, cooking and hunting- as is standard Hafling fare for most of their life really. Yet not for Jan. For he was born in a small settlement called Plim Moot, a tiny place near the World Edge Mountains, at the mouth of a river that no-one outside of the Mootland would know, but that was quite open to attack from the various bands of Ogres and Greenskinned monsters which were known to take Halflings in the night if they weren't careful- such stories had been told to Jan and his many siblings since they were young...it was only later that he would come to know they were real.

Eventually, as all Halflings must, he found a spritely young girl and became her spouse, marrying her on a shining spring day and over time producing two fine children- one a girl and one a boy -topping it all off by opening his own tavern in the village, which was frequented by both the locals and travellers coming up and going down the river.

It was almost a decade later, having settled into his life and his comfortable routine, that it all came to a bloody and horrifying finale...

They came in the middle of the moonless night, hooded figures with sharp spears and curved scimitars, crooked green noses and gnashing teeth and glowing red eyes the only things that were visible as they swept into Plim Moot and massacred or enslaved the entire population present on that night at that time. Luckily his parents, and many Battens, were away in other parts, unluckily he and his family were not.

After being dragged from his bed, the screams of his family ringing in his ears, Jan was knocked out and awoke to find himself looking upon a scene of utmost horror.

It had been nearly a day before he finally awoke, groggy and unprepared for what he saw, thick bars of wood surrounding his naked self in his new cage; in front of him were a group of Night Goblins gathered around a frothing cauldron that bubbled and produced from it a smell that would make anyone wretch, but that made Jan vomit. None of the Greenskins noticed, too busy with their entertainment, chattering in their hideous voices and prodding something in the pot. Jan craned his neck to see what it was...and then wished he hadn't, for there in the pot floated the heads of his wife and children, an animal howl emerging from his throat and continuing until his vocal chords became sore and the Goblins had had enough of it, threatening to cook him next.

[B]Never[/B] would he forget that moment, and never has he.

When he finally was released, a company of Dwarfs coming upon the enemy camp in a frenzy, and finding him before they had a chance to tear his flesh from his bones, they found a Halfling with reddened and puffy eyes from all the tears he had shed and that could not- or would not -speak to the

Seeing that he only wished to leave, they let him go. Jan wandering off into the world, fractured and broken beyond repair, though with his trained and inborn skills nonetheless intact. Using these skills he had managed to make a little money, to survive from one day to the next, but still not truly able to [i]live[/i].

Now he had plodded into Tilea, the very birthplace of the mercenary soldier, to see what he can see, and perhaps even find a reason to remain alive for just a little longer.[/hider]