Jacme Schwarzvogel

[Jacme]

Name: Jacme Schwarzvogel [Jac]
Gender: Male
Age: 39
Hair Colour: once black, now fading into grey.
Eye Colour: a green that's almost yellow.
Weight: 225 lbs
Height: 6' 4"
Race: Human
Occupation: Guardsman
Faction: None [Traditionalist leaning]
Family in Marn: His mother and youngest sister, the middle child in his family passed away from a sickness recently, his father died many years ago.

Physical Description:
Jacme's clothing is simple and utilitarian. Lots of leather pouches, sturdy and adequately crafter clothing that keeps him warm or cool depending on the weather. He prefers a dark grey cloak for his everyday over-where, noting it provides an air of menace to those that see him coupled with his imposing height. Jacme's face is heavily lined from his life experiences [some would say guilt], and he is tanned. He usually keeps his shoulder length tied back with a leather tie that looks like the designs carved onto it were done by a child, and he is close mouthed about where he got it, even more so than he usually is. His muscles are hardened from training and hard work, and he doesn't carry much body fat, no matter how much he eats. His heavy brow casts shadows over his greenish-yellow eyes, giving him a thuggish and brutal look. Hair once midnight black has started to grey, though it still reaches his shoulders and is as thick and wavy as from when he first grew it long. A small raven's feather is tied into his right braid at his temples, the left braid is unadorned.

Some of his scars include the one across his chin which he received breaking up a street fight between two thugs, and one of them pulled a knife. He tried to slash his opponent, and got a guard instead. He has several scars across his body from his time spent away from Shaddin as a young man with a mercenary company that plied its trade across the Sooqui Plain. The scar across his cheekbone came from the sword of a traveling mercenary that got too drunk and started a fight, Jacme was off duty but he tried to take him down anyways. The mercenary laid his cheek open to the bone, and Jacme had it sewn instead of using magic to heal it. He does with all his wounds. Magic is for more important things than a scratch bleeding on him.


Possessions:
Jacme carries most of the armour assigned to the guard, including the breastplate and the helm. He does not wear the bevor, but his sallet does have the visor on it. The scar across his chin is a reminder of what a bevor can stop, but he still refuses it. His breastplate has some denting to it from being involved in scrapes with lawbreakers or drunken mercenaries that stop on their travels in Marn, but he also refuses a new one or replacement. He has had the worst of the dents repaired, and he takes care of it religiously so it still shines as bright as the day it was given to him. Jacme has several weapons in his chest, and he chooses the ones he will carry with him based on the days assignment. His preferred weapon is a flanged mace with a slightly elongated handle, and he also carries a slightly bigger shield than what is usually issued to the guard for the protection of his slightly bigger frame.

Jacme has never owned his own house, always having lived with his family until the death of his uncle. He prefers to either stay at the Fort or bunk in a room that he rents from an older couple that feel safer with their quiet house guest. He keeps to himself, sometimes eating dinner with his landlords, but mostly eating at a local inn. His table is his table, and he does not brook outsiders that sit down with him to start conversations or ask him questions. Depending on his mood, he will sometimes tolerate other guards that see him sitting with him and striking up a conversation, but on other days, he will simply quietly stare at them until they leave.


Powers or Strengths:

Combat abilities- As with all members of the guard, Jacme is well trained with weapons. He has used the mace and shield combination the most, and is best at it, and even though he has tried to practice more often with others, he doesn't always have the time. He also refuses to touch or use most gnomish equipment, and leaves bows and crossbows for those 'without the true spirit to face their enemies'. Stronger than he looks, he is most proficient with a flanged mace and shield, drawing his enemies in or deflecting their blows with his shield and using the mace for a finishing or crippling move. The only other weapon he practices with is a hand and a half sword, but even that he practices with rarely.

Iron Will- One of Jacme's greatest strengths is his iron will and dedication. He is dedicated to the guard, he is dedicated to his commander, he is dedicated to what he does. But more than that, he is dedicated to an idea that the guard is there to protect the people from themselves. He feels that the people or Marn just don't always know what's best for themselves, and sometimes they need to be shown that what they're doing, they need to stop or be punished if they refuse to stop. Jacme cannot be wavered, he can't be bribed or coerced from his duty because he believes ironclad in his duty as a guardsman of Marn, and in the fact that the law is everything.

Learned- Jacme has been working for the guard for almost fifteen years. He knows the protocol's, he knows the laws of Marn, he knows the people of the underground that are always trying to bribe a guard and keep their ill gotten gains. He knows what he's looking for, what signs to follow during a patrol or an investigation. He knows how to read and write, and can read the citations or other things that the people need to know from him. Unlike some guards, he knows many can't read the notices they nail to doors or walls, and he always tries to get someone to listen to what it says so that they can pass it on to others. Jacme is not above taking newer guards under his wing and explaining the job or showing it to them, though if they're slow on the uptake or just general cockups, he'll tell them they need to quit or find someone who can take the time to be their nursemaid instead of a teacher.


Weaknesses and Flaws:

Slight Limp- Due to an injury sustained when he was younger, Jacme has a bit of a limp in his left leg. It's particularly bothersome to him when it rains. During his time away from Shaddin, he was shot in the leg with a gnomish musket on the battlefield. He's had the limp ever since. Jacme attempts to force his body to not react to it, but it's harder to do during the winter and when it's raining. It doesn't affect him much during his duties, but it does make him hate walking long patrols, and he's a bit protective of it, and has left other body parts open to attack in a desire to protect his leg.

Distrustful- Jacme is generally distrustful of his comrades. They take bribes, they look the other way, they betray the law and the weaker people that can be protected by the law. What kind of men are they? Jacme might not be the best at it all, and may not be the greatest guard, but he has never lied about who he is, has never skirted around the truth when it could affect another's opinion of him in a negative way. Jacme is very upfront, and those who are shady or deceitful, who create and plant evidence, who break or ignore the laws when it's convenient or it affects others they care about, he has no trust for. Jacme would lock his own flesh and blood up if they broke the law, because to him the law is everything. The iron of the law is more important to him than the copper tang of blood.

Brutal- Sometimes, Jacme goes overboard with his punishments. He has been censured by the Captain before for it, but it hasn't stopped him. To him, some people have just went to the point that the only punishment is pain. And since there are no laws that truly reign his punishment of a lawbreaker in, he feels no remorse for it. There are some crimes that are unforgivable to him, and if someone attacks or hurts another guard, even one that Jacme does not particularly care for, he will make them pay for it. No matter what his problems internally with the guard, to the public, they are a brotherhood, and the public has to remember that to hurt one guard is to bring down the wrath of more. Jacme doesn't really believe in extenuating circumstances, he believes that you've broken the law, you're going to pay for it, and some crimes deserve a higher payment than the law requires.

Gambling Problem- Jacme has a slight gambling problem. He likes to play dice, and even when he's losing, he always thinks he can win it back, just one more shot at it. At this point in time, it's not really more than a desire to play and test his luck, he makes sure that his rent and other bills are paid, and then he takes the rest of his money and gambles it. Sometimes, he has a good run of luck and does well for himself. Others, he loses it all and has to scrimp or do other things to make some kind of bishani to survive. He's never tried to let it go, he's never tried to break his addiction, because he doesn't see it as an addiction yet. It's still just fun and games to him.

History:

Jacme was born to a small home in Marn, to two very loving parents. He and his sisters never had much growing up, but their mother and father gave them all that they could give. Jacme alway admired his Uncle Karl, who was a guardsman for the city. As he grew up, Jacme had great dreams of being a hero, fighting the evil bandit leader and rescuing the damsel in distress and being rewarded with a kiss. A childs dream. His merchant father never let on how hard life was to his children, giving up many meals for himself to make sure his children were feed. Eventually, he took his brothers advice and joined the guard as well, to provide a steady amount of money for his family. Jacme now had two heroes on the guard to look up to, his father and his uncle.

Growing up, he spent more time at his Uncle's house than his own. When he was ten and tried to pick up his uncles sword, his uncle decided it was time for Jacme to be trained. He made a wooden sword for his nephew, and started his training. Jacme was expected to go through the proper forms, how to attempt to take an enemy's weapon, how to put someone down without harming them more than necessary. That was the kind of guard that Karl Schwarzvogel was, and it was the kind of man he wanted Jacme to be. Jacme absorbed these lessons, but he never felt right with a sword in his hands. As he kept growing and started to fill out and his shoulders broadened, his uncle got him a weapon better suited to his size, and that was when Jacme began to use a mace in his trainings. Karl tried to teach his young nephew that the mace was a dangerous weapon, while it didn't have the grace of the sword, it could still kill, and even cripple, which to some was worse than death.

When Jacme turned 16, he decided that he was going to make his way out into the world. His chance to be someone's hero, to save the damsel in distress. His father sacrificed as much as he could to make sure his son was outfitted in some kind of armour and had a serviceable weapon at his side because everyone knew that when Jacme had decided something, he wasn't moved from it. He was going to go no matter what they said, and so they did their best to prepare him for it. Jacme left, heading out on the great trade roads and looking for adventure. And he found it.

He joined with a mercenary company called the Sons of Corvus, and fought in small skirmishes in the south and south east, far past the borders of Thar Shaddin. They held no true allegiance, flowing between private companies and employers by the amount of gold they were willing to offer. At this point in time is when Jacme picked up his ravens feather hair adornment, and the leather hair tie he wears. An under-officer, someone trained by their sergeant to take over as sergeant in the event of his death, wore a raven feather in his hair. The higher in rank, the more feathers you got. It was a moment of pride for Jacme, because only someone who was seen as both an intelligent fighter and a someone who could beat any enemy gained promotion in the ranks of the Sons. During a rest in a small border town, Jacme ran across a small boy who was selling crudely carved leather bands. One of his comrades explained that the boy was trying to keep his sisters fed, his parents having died due to a plague earlier in the year. Jacme paid ten times the price for the hair tie, and even gave the boy some of his rations to take home for himself and his sisters.

That border town also spelled the ends for Jacme's tenure with the Sons, and it also spelled the end for the mercenary company as a whole. Some of other mercenary companies hired were in the area, and after a few problems with fighting and theft between the two camps, it quickly turned into a battle. They had no warning. Fighting was joined at several points, and the Sons were caught either drunk, sleeping, or away from their weapons. The village and it's people were simply trapped in the middle. Some of the Sons were able to get their weapons and put up a defense, trying to rally more of their brothers to their cause. It didn't work, and their defense was eventually overrun. Jacme ran. He didn't want to die there, and it's haunted him since. Running from the village, he came across three small and arrow filled bodies. The young boy who had sold him the hair tie had been killed trying to protect his little sisters. The injustice of the world crashed down on him at that moment, and he vowed that he was going to go somewhere where he could make a difference, where he could protect people against this kind of injustice. He was going home to Marn. He had been gone for five years, and no one could have made him understand how much his home had changed. He was 21 when he came back through the gates that led into Marn.

Jacme rode a dying horse into Marn, his clothing and leathers bloodstained and with dust and sand in his boots. He was almost arrested by the Guard on appearance alone, but he convinced them that he was the son of Markus Schwarzvogel and the nephew of Karl Schwarzvogel. It was at this point that he found out about the death of his father. He had mysteriously fallen to his death in the river while patrolling the docks. The weight of his armour had drug him down, and the death was ruled accidental, even with the large dent in his helmet from where it appeared he had been struck from behind. His uncle had retired from his position, and had earned his rest. Jacme went into a state of depression. He spent most of his time either in taverns or inns, drinking, gambling what money he had saved and brought home with him, betting trinkets seen as exotic by some that were everyday trinkets in the parts of the world he had been too, getting into fights. This went on for three years, but Jacme always knew when to run to get away before the guards showed up. He always skirted the edges of the law without breaking them.

When his nephew walked into the house, drunk once again from a night of carousing, his purse lighter than when he left and his knuckles bruised and bloody from fighting, Karl pounced. Agile and strong even in his older age, he beat his nephew until almost every part of his body was bruised or ached with the very same wooden practice sword that he had trained him with. He railed at his nephew, telling him that he disgraced the memory of his father, the time his uncle had taken to teach him, everything they had ever done for him. He was a worthless drinker, gambler, bar fighter. He was not living up to their name, and Karl was done. Anymore incidents, if Jacme were to get arrested, and Karl would allow him to be arrested. He would not help him out anymore. He had been a nursemaid to his nephew for too long.

The experience sobered Jacme. He dug into his bags and found a simple and crudely carved hair tie. He remembered the promise that he had made on a war torn and bloody battlefield that had once been a town. He remembered the battered and lifeless bodies of a little boy and his sisters, and he was disgusted with himself. Torn by guilt because the news of his fathers death had sent him over the edge, and he had broken his promise. His father would be disappointed in him. He was sure his mother was, and he now knew that his uncle was. The next morning, after a quiet night spent thinking, he apologized to his uncle. He begged his forgiveness, and Karl, who loved Jacme like his own son, gave it. Jac asked his uncle for a favor, asked him if he could help him join the guard. Karl refused, telling Jac that he needed to get in on his own, not to use his family for it. He needed to do this for him, and not have it done for him. And Jac did. He became a member of the guard at 23 years old, and he's been with them since.

The first years were the hardest. Trying to memorize all of the rules, the regulations, knowing the laws, knowing how to get someone to tell him that they knew where a criminal was, chasing them down. The shakes and sweats for the first few months after he had stopped drinking so heavily, trying to stick to just water for the time he was being trained. He was putting it all on the line here, and couldn't afford to lose it because he showed up piss drunk. When people learned his name, it got shortened to Jac. Jacme didn't pay attention to the nicknames. He paid attention to his job, and he paid attention to the laws and the people breaking them. He became disgusted when he realized that some of the guards, the people supposed to be watching out for the people of Marn and each other, were corrupt or breaking some small laws on their own. When he spoke to his uncle, he was unsatisfied with the answer that 'that was the way it was. Some did bad, and we just try to do good.'

Jac tried to report bribe takers to higher ups and guards that he thought were corrupt to his own officers, but never seen anything really done about it. Jacme believes this is why he doesn't get promoted at the same rate as other guards that he's served with, because he doesn't like the 'some of us are bad but we're all guards' excuse people seem to want to go with. It doesn't have anything to do with the fact that Jacme doesn't actively strive for promotions or anything more than he is, at least to him it doesn't, it's all because he tried to report people for being corrupt in his mind.

Even with all he's put up with from the higher up officials, he is still extremely loyal to the captain and the High Constable, with the belief that they mainly know not what the guard is doing. Everytime Jacme tries to gather evidence to prove his claims, something falls through. It's made him bitter, and he's starting to not care anymore. He just keeps his chin up and does his job. But he always has his ears open. The grease stains on the guard will trip up eventually, and then he'll have them. And when he does? He'll crush them under an iron fist. The biggest man in the guard that he has a problem with is Ferric Vintas. Even the mans name makes Jacme draw his lips into a tight line and a furrow of agitation appear on his brow. He considers him a scoundrel, a cheat, someone who shouldn't even be in the uniform of a city guard. The fact that some of the things that Ferric believes in Jacme also believes in just makes him angrier. If he is ever put on a roster with Ferric, he has made sure to change it out with someone, and it's been that way since he first saw the man, whom Jacme has always compared to a snake. He also cheats at dice, Jacme is sure of it. Unforgivable.

On the flip side, one of his most stalwart friends in the guard is Craig Staleheart. Craig and him share very similar attributes, and Craig is always game for an honest throw of the dice. After all the years, Craig is one of the few people that have gotten past Jacme's sort of 'glare at everyone and they'll go away' mentality, and they can sit in companionable silence while eating or drinking at a table. Jacme is usually ready to help Craig with anything, whether it be training or sparring with a new recruit while Craig works more closely with another. While he wouldn't call Craig his only friend, it sure seems like it to most people. Jacme is not a social person, he does not like the make friends, he doesn't try to make friends. He is very comfortable with the few people he genuinely likes for whatever reason, and doesn't want anymore people in his life. So he usually just glares at the world and that does well enough to scare off most. If it doesn't, they might have a chance if they can get past his stony personality.

He knows of different factions within the guard, but he doesn't pay them any mind. If they were all doing their jobs in the first place, without cheating people or bending the laws for personal gain, they wouldn't need factions. They'd be able to present a unified front against all threats, internally and externally. For all that he hates the corruption, Jacme doesn't report any of the other guards to the High Inquisitor. He knows he is supposed to. He knows how many of them he could get to stop, get to fly straight by doing that. But he doesn't, because that's just too much. There's some things you do. You report someone to another guard, to your officer, but that's in the guard. Even though they were once guards, the Inquisitors aren't part of them anymore as far as he's concerned. He won't sell out his brothers to someone who isn't part of them anymore. And to him, the Inquisitors, former guards or not, are not part of them.

A few years ago, Jacme's uncle Karl passed away, and Jac couldn't stand living in his home anymore. Too many memories. So he sold it and gave most of the money to his mother and youngest sister who took care of her, before renting his own room nearby. On his off days, he can either be found at a tavern playing dice or in the fort, training some new blood how to use a mace. Jacme has never married, and has given the guard his whole life. It's all he is anymore. The law is an armour that he wears, and his strength is the iron that keeps it strong. That's all he is. A man that spends most of his time alone, that has armoured himself with the law and with steel, and who is most likely going to die that way, alone and holding on to the law. And he's fine with that.

[Niabi]

I'd say this looks pretty good. The only thing I can really recommend changing would be that you refer to the region as "Thar" repeatedly when "Shaddin" would be the shortened version. Thar basically translated to "country of" so Thar Shaddin is "country of Shaddin." There are several Thars that surround Shaddin, each with their own name.

Since Kat isn't here to weigh in her opinion, I'm going to go ahead and approve it.