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Author Topic: Jonas Paaras  (Read 2719 times)

Description: Warlord. Rose to Purple Dusk. Played by Nicole.

Offline Jonas Paaras

  • Character Account: Inactive
    • rose2pd
    • warlord
    • Role

      Smuggler

    • Territory

      Glacia

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Nicole

    • Posts

      229

Jonas Paaras
« on: Dec 09, 13, 06:53:01 PM »
The Basics

Character Name: Jonas Paaras
Nicknames:
Age:  39 (153 AP)
Race:  Short-lived
Caste:  Warlord
Birth Territory: Glacia
Home Territory: Glacia

Birthright Jewel: Rose
Offering Jewel:  Purple Dusk. (Rolled on Klara Paaras's sheet: http://forums.bloodrites.net/glacia-30/klara-paaras/)
Appearance


Play By: David Beckham
Distinguishing Features: Blonde and blue-eyed, Jonas Paaras was blessed as a nearly perfect specimen of Glacian attractiveness. In his own words, if he'd also been blessed with a dark jewel, the territory queen herself wouldn't be able to resist him. He's very fit and muscular, having earned every cut of muscle climbing up some unforgiving rock.

Personality



Personality:

Jonas Paaras considers himself a simple man. His life revolves around a single mission, and his decisions and demeanor flow from there. This mission is the Underground, smuggling the light jeweled out of Glacia. That should make his life complicated, but he doesn’t see it that way. He’s just a man who is doing the right thing. Given that he has the skills and the inclination, what other choice does he have?

He’s fairly reserved with his emotions. He loves his family dearly and counts precious few as close friends. He’s more likely to show that love by risking his life for them than telling them. This earns him a reputation for being what some might call cranky, gruff or to some, a bit of an ass. He doesn’t agree with the assessment, but also doesn’t much care. If he’s gruff, it’s because the world he lives in is a rough one. If he’s terse, it’s because his business is serious, and there isn’t much time and certainly no room for optimism. The climb is dangerous. The risks are high. He wouldn’t do a disservice to those coming to him for help by pretending otherwise, though some seem to wish he would deliver the news with a bit more softness.

You want softness, he tells them, go find a furrier. You want to get out of this frozen misery, you need a climber, and that’s what he is.

In the mountains, he feels most at home and most himself. The mercilessness strikes out at all, regardless of jewels, and makes all of them equal. Around a craft-fire in the snow, sipping hot whiskey or rum, he’s certain that the light and dark jeweled of his homeland could find peace with each other.

His temper is short, but he has taught himself to reign it in, more often than not taking his anger out on his body with a harsh workout or hard climb than by raising his voice or striking out in some other way. Better to pack it in ice, and let it keep for another time. He likes drink and gambling. Nothing is too dire or too trivial for a bet. He doesn’t often joke, but he has a wry gallows humor that keeps him going. His language is often coarse, and he’s much like the mountains where he spends most of his time: Cold and covered in ice, tricky to navigate, strong and grounded, protective.

Likes:
  • Climbing. He made his first climb when he had no business even trying it. If he ever had sons — daughters either — who even looked askance at a cliff face at the same age he tried to climb one for the first time, he’d break their legs just for thinking about it. But for himself, climbing has always been a puzzle. A meditation. He can get to the top of anything if he can just find the right path, and there’s always a path. Perhaps not a safe one, but a path. Becoming a climber was a natural progression for him, though, he’s learned not to take as many risks with others as he’s taken with himself.

  • Gambling. Only a gambling man could love the life of a smuggler. His every move is a gamble. Actually placing a bet just makes the whole thing more profitable — and there’s nothing too trivial to be worth a bet.

  • Outsmarting the Dark Jeweled. He’s not proud that he likes it so well, yet he cannot deny that he gets a deep sense of satisfaction not only from having helped a fellow Light Jewel to a better life — but also that he’s gotten one over on the Dark Jewels who are so convinced they are better in every way. Every Light Jewel delivered across the border is further evidence his “more blessed” brethren are dead wrong.

    Dislikes:
  • Smugglers motivated wholly by profit. For the most part, Jonas Paaras doesn't give a damn about intentions. The outcome is the outcome, and what a person meant in the making of that outcome doesn't usually amount to much. However, the exception is bastards who think preying on the light jeweled desperate enough to try to flee is a great way to make a profit. Jonas's own services aren't cheap -- but that's because he needs to be able to fund his next climb, his next escape, in addition to having enough to live on. However, there are those who see this as a means to profit from the scared and the desperate, virtually selling them into slavery once they've milked them for every mark they have. He wouldn't mind seeing a few of them fall off the mountaintop.

  • Getting too close. The life he’s chosen is dangerous. Anyone who gets close to him is endangered by association. It’s a worthwhile risk if you’re someone who needs to flee Glacia, but for anyone else, it’s just poor judgment. Not everyone he tries to help will make it. Not everyone he tries to help can be helped. Everyone who knows his secret brings him one step closer to being caught, which is all-but-inevitable. It’s the price he pays for saving lives: He doesn’t really get to be part of anyone’s.

  • Collars. Collars are for dogs and other beasts. Their use on Blood demeans them to nothing more than curs. Should he ever be forced into one, he’s fortunate. His mother would hold the rings, and he can completely trust her. Most are not so lucky as he is. As much as he hates them, he’s looking into having counterfeit ones made, as they may be useful props when they become more common on the necks of the light jeweled.

    Fears:

  • Klara will get caught up in this mess. As far as he can tell, Klara Paaras has no idea what business her family is in. He’s begged Eljas Henrikki to quit the smuggling business. Though the man played an influential role in getting the Paaras family involved, and works closely with them, Jonas would prefer that Eljas now put Klara, his wife, as his first priority. As she becomes more prominent as a dancer, she is potentially subject to greater scrutiny. He fears if Henrikki was ever caught, that no one would believe in Klara’s innocence.

  • Being caught and unwittingly betraying others in the Underground. It’s a healthy fear. It keeps him careful. It drives him to take every precaution to shield his mind should he ever be taken into custody. The webs on his memories will destroy them should someone try to forcibly access them. He’ll forget everyone he ever loved. He’ll forget everything he’s known. Hell, he might forget how to dress himself. But, he’ll also forget every name and every face associated with the Underground.

  • Betrayal. He’s been known to wake up at night, running though all the ways his business could go wrong. The dowagers hold most of the secrets to the underground. If they were penetrated by someone with ill-intent, or they became persuaded by the dark jeweled that the Underground is wrong, they could screw over nearly everyone — or shatter the minds relying on their webs for protection. He might pick up a client who is being manipulated to ferret out Underground operatives. Sometimes, people die in the process of escape, and an angry family member could seek revenge. Any of these is possible, and even likely. It’s a fear he simply must live with.

    Craft Strengths:
  • Masking psychic scent. He’s honed this one. As a young man, it was a favorite bar bet. He likes to say there was once a gray-jeweled man who couldn’t figure out his caste or jewels. (He -might- be exaggerating.) But, if he decides to mask himself, good luck reading into what he is — let alone how he’s feeling. It’s a useful function for his work, but he also jealously guards his privacy and his feelings. He never liked the idea that people could sense his emotions, so this was a skill he worked at early.

  • Physical enhancement. Climbing sculpted his body into an efficient machine of muscle and sinew. Even as a very strong man, his strength is often not enough when he’s hauling people up the Sallow Road or through the Eyrien Way. He relies on this skill often.

    Craft Weaknesses:
  • Shielding: Shielding taxes his jewels, his darker Purple Dusk even more than his Rose. He can maintain a shield for short amounts of time, but they’re fairly weak, better for hiding behind than actually blocking anything. He can’t use them to lift anyone, or catch anyone — so if he is carrying a client who is skilled in this area, it’s a pleasure.

  • Social craft. Jonas isn’t the life of the party, and he doesn’t want to be. Never saw any point in taxing his jewels to make someone like him. He’s a straight shooter. He’s honest about the risks of what he does. He’s calculating because he has to be. He’s cold as a glacier when he needs to be. No room in his life for trying to smooth over his rougher edges with craft.


    Life Story

    Family:
    Mother:Riita Paaras - Summer Sky to Green - witch - 56
    Father: Rhodri Paaras - Tiger Eye to Purple Dusk - Prince - 55  (rolled on his own sheet)
    Siblings: Simo Paaras - Rose to Summer Sky - warlord - 33
    Sade Paaras - Yellow to Rose - healer - 30
    Sylvi Paaras - White to Rose - Black Widow - 29
    Klara Paaras (adopted. Very adopted.) Landen - 25

    History:


    Jonas Paaras had three siblings by blood, and dozens more by less tangible ties. His mother cared for the children of those who worked in the mines, and he was her helper. As much as he would rather be going with his father to work with the men, swing an ax, go into the belly of the mountains he couldn’t wait to scale, he cared for the kids with his mom. He learned how to organize them into elaborate games, he and his brother Simo dividing them into teams and each side hiding some treasure that the other had to capture and smuggle back to their own homebase. The games could go on for days, played on and off. He learned how to diaper the little ones, coax them out of crying. They were all too young then — so many of them without even an offering.

    He had his own offering then of a rose, and had every reason to believe he would make it to opal, be a dark jewel like his mother. Though, at the same time, knowing his father was only Purple Dusk, his mother never seemed to mind. Never seemed bothered or ashamed. He would learn about all of those prejudices later.

    He was 13 when Klara became part of their family, a charming little Landen girl. She was showered with gifts and attention by the whole family, Jonas included. Though, he suspected his sisters were more sad for her that she wasn’t Blood, while he was more sorry that she was robbed of her mother and father. Even at the peak of his rebellious years, he respected his father as the ultimate model of what a man ought to be. He cared about his mother fiercely, though he didn’t like her mussing his hair, kissing him, sneaking a hug when the other kids were around.

    Climbing was in his blood. When he was a baby, he climbed everything he could get his pudgy limbs on. He mastered stairs before he fully mastered walking. He managed at age three to get out of his bedroom window and on to the roof. He was scrabbling over icy rooftops with older boys in Vaasa by the time he was 5, until he fell off one and had to go to a healer. Then, he only stopped because his mother begged him to. Before his offering, while everyone else was exploring the caves, learning about Mother Night, he wanted to explore the mountain.

    He made his first climb, it started as a hike into the mountains around age 7. He came to a steep cliff face, fitted with hooks left by previous climbers. He didn’t have any of the gear or know-how, he just fitted his hands and feet against the rock, and started to ascend. There was no road here, but there was a path. He could make it out, catching sight of the next handhold, the next tiny ledge to accommodate his foot. So fixated on the task, he didn’t notice the small cluster of men and women who gathered at the foot of the rock face, or the shields they wove around him or under him to protect him if he should fall. He pulled himself up to the top, perching on an outcropping, and looked out, as though he were standing in the sky. He was in love with the climb, and not even the instructive screaming and lashing he received after he rappelled down would change his mind.

    From then on, he climbed whenever he could sneak away to do so. His father introduced him to an experienced climber, fguringhe might as well receive instruction. By the time he completed his birthright and his offering, he was an expert.

    It was the man who mentored him in climbing who also showed him the Underground. Through him, he learned what was happening to light jeweled people like himself and his family. He could not believe that Mother Night would gift him with his ability if she did not mean for him to help right the wrongs done in her name. Though, he would distance himself from teh dark religion as he matured — seeing it for the destructive force it is — his quest began as a holy one.

    He convinced his family that they must help these people like themselves who were not blessed with a loving matriarch like Riita. He worked with Sade and Sylvi, their skills especially useful. He learned to be a stringer, though climbing remained his first love. Several years into the new “family business,” he was dragged from his work to go see Klara, his adopted youngest sister, perform. He was impatient, until a particularly beautiful young dancer took the stage. He swallowed the longing when he realized it was Klara stirring these feelings. So very much younger — and considered his sister by the rest of the family — it could not be.

    As she entered her late teens and early 20s, those feelings only grew. His parents gave her to Eljas Henrikki, a good man. A good smuggler, but the last thing he wanted was for Klara to be touched by this ugly business that could earn her death. He moved away from the family, closer to his work.

    The climb is all that matters. He holds the respect of his cell. He has made connections, and is able to traverse any of the known routes through the mountains with as much ease as is possible — and carve new routes if avalanche, rock slide or unforeseen patrols require it. His uncanny climbing ability earned him the nickname Ascender, or Scender. It’s the name he generally uses for business, as no one needs to know his name is Jonas Paaras.

    He trusts in his dowager sister to weave careful webs in his mind, so that should anyone forcibly probe it, those memories will be destroyed. Much else would be lost with it, but he would not be able to incriminate his family or the escapees, and ultimately, that’s all that matters.

    Not every climb ends in a rescue. Not every climb ends well. But enough of them do, and until the light jeweled are no longer treated like dogs, slaves, or some reviled underclass, he knows what he has to do.

    Show Us What You've Got


    Writing Sample:
    “Don’t bet against me, kid. Not even now.”

    Gambling never scared Jonas Paaras. By no means a fearless man, Jonas never shied away from a bet. Just the ones that went against him. Losing propositions, he’d say, never tempt a wise man. Few bet against Jonas Paaras and walked away counting their marks.

    “Scender!” The little girl squealed his name, and it echoed off the ice before being muffled into the snow. Scender. Ascender. The only name the little girl knew, a tiny queen, for all that she looked like a boy thanks to a dowager Black Widow’s handiwork. All the power of his Purple Dusk coursed through his veins, straight into his muscles, flexing powerfully beneath layers of down, duck, linen and leather.  The burning power crept in tendrils through his tendons and sinew, gripping his fingers around the tiny wrist, her feet dangling beneath her as the last power of her mothers's Tiger Eye shield sputtered beneath her.

    Gambling never scared Jonas Paaras, but today the odds and the snow both stacked against him.

    He should have turned back at first light, like he wanted to.

    The Sallow Road twisted through the mountains, a path so familiar, he could traverse it blindfolded, rendered deaf by wind or craft. For once, that bitch Mother Night seemed truly on the side of the Dark Jeweled, and a vicious storm dumped snow and ice on either side of them, concealing the well-traveled road and leaving Ascender to bring his charges to the Nharkava border by another means. The cliff face had few holds, and only a few loose rings left by the Climbers before him, unused for years. A once-in-a-decade storm, and he found himself in it with three charges: The kid, and her parents. A tiny light-jeweled queen. Despite Glacia’s embarrassment of riches in its many queens, this one’s darker jeweled relatives tried to snatch her from her parents, a Tiger Eye and a Summer Sky. Summer Sky Wardlord Prince, at that.

    What use did the family have of a little queen who had no hope of descending far enough into the abyss or the to consider her worthy of even licking their boots? They’d chain her to the ground, if they could, spread her power like manure over the soil, until every bit of her was drained and returned to the earth in the name of a better crop of ice wine this next season.

    But no one steals the baby girl out of the arms of a Warlord Prince, not even a light jeweled one. Jonas respected that, though he suggested they turn back. Try another time. In a few months.

    “In a few months,” the Summer Sky said, “they will have a collar on my neck, and I will be denied even the will to stop them from taking my daughter from me. We go on.”

    “Im not a fucking Eyrien,” Scender said. “There are no wings under this coat, man.”

    “You’re a climber. Climb.”

    During this, the wife had the little girl tucked against her, a tiny thing for her eight years. All blond hair and ice blue eyes. The perfect Glacian child, all until she delved into the Abyss and could only go about knee deep. A yellow birthright. The color of piss on the snow.

    Not only was the cliff face a sheer drop, it didn’t go high enough to get them up to the next landing. To get to where the road’s twist would have left them, Jonas would have to scale them up the cliff and then over to the serac, a frozen fountain of icicles, packed snow, a wall of ice. A damn whore of a thing: cold and unforgiving and completely unfaithful as a lover. A serac could stand for a century, then melt in a day, as far as he was concerned. Crack and drop them down, down, down. A hundred feet to scale up the serac to the safety of the next landing, where the road might be clear, and the road to Nharkava less treacherous. A hundred feet up, but a thousand feet below them, a drop into unforgiving crags of rock, more ice, a frozen river thick with the bodies of those who failed before them.

    He secured them with a strong line. Strapped spikes to their shoes. Slow going as he picked ice away from rock, raining the slivers down on them, getting to the rock to work a hook in. Securing the line to the new hook, then inching his way up to the next fraction of a hold, and doing the same. He called that the easy part.

    Then, the serac.

    The four of them made it about half way up before a crack splintered through the air, piercing their ears with the most terrifying sound Jonas Paaras knew. They’d tethered themselves to ice that was giving way. He extended his worthless shileds around them, but a rain of icicles cracked over them.  One pierced through his suit, bruising but not cutting his shoulder. The Tiger Eye took it to the forehead, the kid was all right. The Warlord Prince’s hook slipped from the ice, and he dangled and twisted beneath his daughter, the little queen squealing “Scender,” like the name of some god who had a chance of saving them. She wrapped her yellow shield around her daddy until her jewel broke over her father’s shouted objections. His own shields held him for now, and for an hour they stayed just there, Scender trying to talk him back to the ice, to the ledge, but his muscles ached. His own jewels taxed.

    The wife wept, the tears freezing to her face as soon as they slipped to her chapped cheeks, snot pouring down to her cracked lip. The little girl was limp beneath them.

    “We have to go on.” He sent the words to the Warlord Prince, and the Warlord Prince alone. He knew what he had to do. From his cabinet, he produced a knife, and cut the bond that tied him to his daughter and wife. “Mara.”

    The word echoed in the crevasse, the only time Jonas ever heard the woman’s real name.

    Jonas never saw it happen. He just knew the weight on his waist and his back lightened. He pulled them up to the next hold. The climb became a meditation. The weight beneath him nothing more than cargo. The serac a puzzle, a game of finding one hold and then the next, using his fingertips, toes, triceps, thighs, knees.

    He got the females to the landing, almost. He pulled himself up first, when the ice started to break again against them. The mother — no longer a wife, but a widow, screamed out, slipping, dangling precariously by a bond barely hooked into the unforgiving ice, her daughter shaking free below her. Scender laid down on his belly, reaching for the woman and getting her by the wrists. He tugged her, pulling her up then grabbing the rope that attached her to the girl, not much more than 50 pounds or so, but 50 pounds of shrieking fear.

    “Kid,” he said. “I got you.”

    “My daddy…”

    “I know, baby. Reach up here.”

    He strained, pulling up on her tether while groping for her wrist. “Don’t bet against me, kid. Not even now. I got you.”

    He raised her up, inch by inch, until her mother could help him get her on to the landing proper, tufted in by snow all around them. That bitch Mother Night and her avalanches. There would be another cliff face. And another. Now, there would be less weight, but Jonas Paaras would climb all the same.

    Petitions (if any): 

    Player Name: Nicole







Offline Jamie

  • Administrator
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      Jamie

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      18,526

    • cute! but psycho... but cute!

Re: Jonas Paaras
« Reply #1 on: Dec 10, 13, 02:35:39 AM »
Per the Jewels rolled on Klara's sheet...

Weighed by Mother Night...

You've risen from the Darkness twice blessed with an uncut Rose birthright Jewel, and were gifted with an uncut Purple Dusk Jewel at your offering.

&

Congratulations










Please contact me via Email - not PM! <3 | GMT Time Zone
-aim/email/gchat- jamie@bloodrites.net

Offline Jonas Paaras

  • Character Account: Inactive
    • rose2pd
    • warlord
    • Role

      Smuggler

    • Territory

      Glacia

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Nicole

    • Posts

      229

Re: Jonas Paaras
« Reply #2 on: Dec 12, 13, 02:05:00 PM »
Ready for review, please!







Offline Tal

  • Player Account: Inactive
    • player
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      Tal

    • Posts

      1,491

    • Smutsnob Feelsslut

Re: Jonas Paaras
« Reply #3 on: Dec 12, 13, 08:53:06 PM »




Offline phinneas

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      9,874

    • Tower, this is Ghost Rider requesting a flyby...

Re: Jonas Paaras
« Reply #4 on: Jun 01, 18, 01:59:58 PM »
This character has been marked as Inactive

If you would like to reactivate this character they will need to be submitted through the Keep's Registry again as a petitioned character using the Reactivation Petition.
phinneas@bloodrites.net  •  Discord: phinn#0798  •  Writer Tracker


 

 

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