Athol — Roleplayer Guild

@SonofJET HA! I was thinking about making a character that carries Halligan Bar...

Henri Jhones

Beware the old man in a world where men die young

Character Summary

Name: Henri Jhones
Aliases: The Black Mountain, Hammer Hands, Old Man

Gender: Male
Age: 65

Race/Ethnicty: First Nations (Haida)/Scandinavian & African American 
Place of Origin:The Principality of Porlan (A small city-state near the southern border of the Salyia Triumvirate)

Occupation: Mercenary, Bodyguard, Farm Hand, Archer, Bounty/Game Hunter

Character Attributes

Height: 6’7”
Weight: 290 lbs
Appearance: His skin is as brown as freshly tilled soil, and his eyes are so dark that they are almost black. Once he had a full head of thick black hair that he kept tied in a braid, but now there is so little on his head that he just keeps it shaved. Despite the lack of hair on his head, he still proudly sports a thick iron grey beard.

Scars: The most prominent are, the lash marks across his back (Punishment for starting a brawl without provocation), the burn marks on his left leg (From a fire pot thrown during the assault on a brigand camp) and the cut from the right corner of his mouth to half way across his right cheek (Sneezed while using his camp knife as a fork).
Piercings: He has a single piercing in his left ear, a piece of antler bone from his first successful hunt. 
Day To Day Attire:
His base layer is an old tunic, some rough spun pants and a set of well-worn leather boots. All of his clothes show signs of being well used and often repaired.
 
Strengths:

Armsman: Given that he’s been a wandering ‘strong man for hire’ for decades now, he’s a pretty deft hand at most weapons
Patience: Hunting game to feed a town might never make one rich, but it’s a steady income…assuming you’re calm enough to actually track and catch your prey.
Strong Man: Even as old as he is, with the life he’s led, Henri is still a phenomenally strong man.

Weaknesses:

Time: He’s not the young man he once was. Things hurt more than they should, more often.
Heights: After getting tree’d by a pack of feral dogs, and then nearly falling out of said tree, he likes his feet firmly on the ground and well away from anything like a large drop.
Bees: He gets stung, he’s dead…so far so good though.

Possessions

Items Of Note: 

Sleeve-less Long Coat: He wears a metal re-enforced coat over his other gear as armour, though it does trade protection for ease of movement and long term wear ability.
Stout Shield: A simple round shield, made from sturdy wooden planks and forged iron.
Fir’mans Ax: An Old World axe that Henri found during an expedition into some smaller ruins many years back. He paid handsomely to have a blacksmith clean it up as best he could and then mount it on a new handle.
War Bow and arrows: A huge war bow that is nearly impossible for anyone but him to draw.
Travellers Pack: A wooden framed, leather and cloth pack to carry what he need while on the move.

History

Henri grew up on a small homestead not far from Porlan with his father, a wood cutter and hunter by trade; his mother died of a wasting sickness when he was very young and he has little memory of her. Life wasn’t easy, but it was good, and from the beginning his size and strength made the hard jobs easier. By the time he was 15 he was larger than all the boys his age and quite a few of the men.

Learning his tradecraft at his father’s side, life was good until one week his father failed to come home after going out to check trap lines. After waiting a day or so extra, in case his father had merely been delayed, Henri set out to search the trap line; it took the better part of a week but he did find his father. Nothing nefarious, no attack by brigands or savaged by wild beasts…simply a miss step on a steep hill had caused his father to tumble down the slope, only to be stopped by a large rock that broke his neck.

He carried his father’s body home and buried him in the same small glade where his mother had been buried so many years earlier. Henri tried to keep on working as he had been, on the times that he went into Porlan, those that had known his father expressed their sympathy if his loss, but without his father he felt lost; he wasn’t close to anyone in Porlan or the sparse neighbouring homesteads, there was nothing anchoring him there. Not long after he made up his mind to go out into the wider world, to maybe see if there was somewhere else that would call to him.

He packed what gear, food, money and trade goods he could carry into his pack, gave whatever was left that had use or value to those he knew and then left. He has been travelling even since, and now finds himself, not for the first time, in Praetor City. The older he gets the more he tends to stay where the weather is warmer.
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