Character name: Tarr Jhaan
Title: Tarr o' de Authalar clan o' Jhaan o' de order o' T'ard Harr
Title translated: Tarr of the Jhaan wild-jungle dwarf clan, druid order of Thard Harr
Origins: Chult (long ways from home baby)
Race: Jungle Dwarf (per FRCS on wild dwarves, using Shield subrace stats)
Class: Druid/Barbarian
Sect/Clan info: A rather large sect of the clan, Tarr had three brothers (all older), one sister and one half-sister. He got along well enough with his older brothers, but his sisters were another matter altogether. Serving wenches at best, they showed little promise and even less beauty. As it was in the Jhaan clan, women were never much more than problems. They offered children, food, and the occasional clean shirt, but women served little other purpose, such as they were. Granted, those with fine golden hair upon their chests were often sought after, but for what, Tarr could not understand. No, the thin elven lasses, living in hovels far above, he found far more entertaining, even if they did not give him much more than a cursory glance. If not for their lack of body hair, he would be inclined to court a few. Of course, these were merely silly little games of thought he played with, knowing full well the elfin wenches would give but a giggle and flitter off, a mild humor to be shared with their consorts, elven male rabble that they be.
Basic bio: While most jungle dwarves are well in tune with nature and jungle lore, Tarr goes far beyond the norm. Although he loves to socialize, he tends to lack tact or manners. Because of this, he spent most of his childhood ostracized by many in this dwarven communal, often picked on and rarely loved. A sad picture indeed, especially for a dwarf, but Tarr... being of a proud and noble family (not actually nobles, mind you... god forbid), received good counsel from his elders, especially codgety ol' Jhorj, his grand uncle.
Now, Jhorj was on in his years, but rarely missed an opportunity to tease the animals or swing from a vine, although never very good at it. Indeed, it was thought that his many tree encounters had made him rather adled. Yet the stories he told Tarr were legendary, so rich in depth and design as to give question to such claims. A spinster of tales this ol' Jhorj was, for never a twist was denied and never a plot was less driven. He would speak endlessly of animals, and of nature. Of the rage of the storm and the power in lightning, then of the lulling chitter given by griffin apes as they pruned each other with loving abandon. Jhorj would give names to these animals, and even to the storms themselves. A droplet would have life, and a purpose. A soft green branch would serve its young master tree well, caring to hold the leaves just right... catching every radiant ray of light that slipped its way past the grizzled, and far older trees towering above. And Jhorj would always, somehow, relate each story to the wondrous caretaker of the jungle, Thard Harr. A being so compassionate, so utterly devoid of selfishness, and who served nature as much as nature sheltered him. A hero without battles, but always at war, striking time and time again at those who would defile the purity of the vine, the leaves, the very essence of a vibrant jungle.
Such were the strength of his yarns that Tarr yearned for the day he would reach of age and be allowed to leave the cold hollows of the Cord trees that served as training halls and sullied homes for the Authalar, to touch upon the beauty he saw in the little things most others in his clan took for granted, and also a chance to escape the constant fending of ribs, as well as rocks, gnawing endlessly on young Tarr's mind and body.
Oddly, Tarr held little malice toward his fellow Authalar lads. Somehow he knew they would eventually grow to be great protectors of the clan. Somehow he also knew his place would be elsewhere, in another jungle, another land perhaps.
Years passed and Tarr eventually entered the ritual of adulthood, being given the clan name and shortly thereafter enjoined into the order of Thard Harr. Years more, and he found himself quite restless. The call had grown significantly and the small, but otherwise functional docks built by the elves at the shores of the northern jungle enclaves, soon found his presence a fixture. Hoping to gain passage, he worked for little wages on and off the decks of the ships, but none would take the burden of a dwarf, especially one unaccustomed to the dance of the waves, or the endless pungent seasoning on the lips.
As things grew more desperate, so too did the opportunity for exploit increase. Eventually he was approached by a sordid lot, offering to afford his travels, and that of his sisters. Clearly Tarr knew his wretched sisters would not care for such a venture, but the group insisted these were the conditions, for they lacked cooks and care, and dwarven women would hold little interest for men on a ship, regardless of how many months at sea.
It made well sense, and thus Tarr returned to the clan, having planned a ruse to bring his sisters in tow. Taking his sister and half-sister aside, after a family meal and plenty of drink, Tarr brought both, Jayne and Jain be their name, come help him prepare a room on his ship to ensure the trip through the seas would be fit for a Jhaan. Not too bright of his sisters, he thought, but sufficient a tale as any his grand uncle Jhorj would have spun.
Paid well that day, but only part of the whole, Tarr celebrated with good drink, then slept in the wharf hostel in preparation for his first outing at sea and the rest of his due, while his sisters prepared his room on the ship securely docked but a few railings away. And so, as one who had considered the situation with far more depth than Tarr had initially opted to offer, he arose in the morning with a revelation, no fare, but part of his due in gold, and two less sisters in clan.
The ship and crew, his sisters too, were nowhere to be found. The gold he held, little consolation for the grevious error in judgement that now left him to bear, the fury of the clan, alone. Tarr turned about to take his due, glancing once more for any sign of hope, any billowing sail touching the horizon. Of course, no luck would clear him, and so Tarr hardened for the eventual casting out, such a fool's move would procure, from the lips of the Jhaan elders.
He never did return to the clan. Jhorj, his grand uncle and great teller of stories, came to him in the passing, heard his tale, pulled him aside from the path, and told him of a different, far bolder tale. One in which a proud jungle dwarf battled ruffians in defense of his sisters, yet how there were far more of them than the dwarf could manage, and of how he was bested. How the dwarf awoke to find his sisters taken, sold into slavery, and sent across the seas and then, finally, of how that dwarf braved those very same seas, in search of his sisters in far away lands.
Tarr in prayer
