Jonathon
Player Character Bio
Player: Dave P.; Campaign: Darwin's Realm
Bio written by Dave P.

"Bear traps is a good thing."

Jonathon was born of a trapper father and a plains woman whom Jonathon’s father had won in a dice game during a trip through the Plains of Grandaniti. While still a babe, his father moved the family into the foothills of the Luthold Mountains, West of Trazarra, where he made a living hunting and trapping for "those damned rich city folk". Jonathon’s father was a rough, course, and unsophisticated man but he had an inherent empathy and understanding of the wilderness. He accepted and respected those who accepted and respected him for what he was. These values and knowledge he shared with Jonathon, along with teaching him the ways of the wilderness. In this way the family was able to coexist with the other hill and mountain beings without enmity.

This coexistence came to an abrupt end one winter while Jonathon was but 14 years old. After 5 days in the forest running his trap lines he returned home in the early afternoon to find signs of violence surrounding the ashes of their log cabin. Even the dogs and chickens had been slaughtered. Entrails had been heaped into a gut pile. He knew these could only have come from his parents.

It was easy to see the spore of the ogre raiding party that had caused all of this. The ashes will still warm, they weren’t more than ½ a day away. An eye for an eye, motherfuckers!! Jonathon took stock of his possibles and the supplies he had on his horses, and decided to settle the issue immediately. He had hunted on horseback for years and knew that his horses could be relied on to be silent.

Stringing his bow and ensuring that his heavy hunting spears were sharp and the blades tightly bound, he set off on the tracks of the ogres. Following their trail in the mountain snows was a trivial task. From time to time Jonathon could see specks of still fresh blood. Apparently they had wounded. Good, soon they would have dead also. The ogres would have to make camp to rest and tend their wounded. Dusk fell and the temperature plummeted, but Jonathon continued on. The weather was in his favor since the last snowstorm a week ago, and now there was a gentle night wind wafting down through the mountain passes.

Several hours after dusk, Jonathon smelled the acrid tint of wood smoke on the night breeze along with the aroma of roasting meat. Following his nose rather than the trail, he came to the top of a low rise and saw the ogre camp next to a stream below, about 50 yards away. The ogres had J-hooked their trail and posted a guard in case someone might track them. If he had continued following the trail rather than the scent of smoke he would have been ambushed. There appeared to 5 ogres in the party, 4 in camp and one on watch. Jonathon could see that one of the party had a large bow, but the rest had spears.

Jonathon removed the traps from his packhorse and spent several hours silently arraying then along the ridgeline. By midnight, he was ready. From experience, Jonathon knew that sleeping in mountain snows was hard, even for ogres, and that sleep comes fitfully but hardest just before dawn. He waited.

The moon, ¾ full, crept across a cloudless night sky, looking down on Jonathon as he moved like a ghost over the snow until he was within 5 feet of the unfortunate ogre that had fallen asleep on watch. Leveling his spear and positioning it a foot from the ogres throat, Jonathon thrust with all his might. The spear point passed into and through the ogres throat, pinning his neck to the tree. The ogres eyes opened as a gurgling froth of blood spewed from his lips. Jonathon grabbed his head with both hands and hissed, "Look at me! Look me in the eyes as you die!" The ogre tried to rise and grab Jonathon but the effort was futile as his life and strength ebbed away. Within less than a minute the ogre was dead.

Returning to his horses, Jonathon checked to make sure his saddle and equipment was properly secured, and that the rags he had tied around their hooves were snug. Mounting his horse and taking up one of his heavy spears, he slowly rode down into the ogre camp. He knew which one had the bow. Silently, he rode close enough to feel the heat from their campfire, circling around toward the ogre archer and his bow. Silently he dismounted. Reaching slowly, he used his spear to pick up the large ogre bow from beside its sleeping owner. Backing away with the bow in his hands he mounted his horse and, with a loud shout, spurred his horse up the ridge.

The ogre camp exploded into confusion and guttural shouts focused in his direction. Looking back he saw two ogres, still entangled in their sleeping skins, trying to throw spears while still on their knees. The spears fell far short. Jonathon angled up the slope and, once over the ridge began to move along it in full view of the ogres. Within a minute, the ogres had disentangled themselves from their bedding, found their weapons, and were charging up the slope through the snow, intent on killing and eating this skinny little human.

Jonathon dismounted and began loosing arrows, focusing on the leading ogre. The ogres were closing on the ridgeline when one of them screamed and fell, clutching his left ankle that was caught in a bear trap. Simultaneously, a lucky arrow shot slammed through the chest of the lead ogre and he fell to his knees, spewing blood from his mouth.

Jonathon quickly mounted his mustang and trotted down the far side of the ridge, keeping just out of spear range. A second ogre screamed, clutching his right foot. "Bear traps is a good thing". Two ogres dead, two wounded, and one still mobile. The unhurt one turned to see what had caught his friends. As he did so, Jonathon continued shooting arrows. The two wounded ogres began limping back to their camp but the last one decided to chase him. Moving and shooting, and keeping out of spear range, Jonathon dropped him. Before closing with the downed ogre, Jonathon put two more arrows through his chest - just to make sure.

Riding back to the ogre camp, Jonathon found the set of blood stained footprints from the remaining two ogres. It took but a minute on horseback to catch up with them. Using the last of his arrows, Jonathon finished the job.

Since that night, and for the next 10 years, Jonathon remained in the foothills and mountains, hunting and trapping for "those damned rich city folk". A couple of years ago he found a wolf cub that he has raised and trained. He and the wolf have a pack relationship and from time to time Jonathon has to assert himself as the alpha member of the pack. He just recently bartered with one of the plains tribes for a squaw (cost him two good horses and a passel of fur) who currently accompanies him on his travels. Only lately has he made the acquaintance of adventurers but he has found that the freewheeling traveling lifestyle suits him just fine.

Jonathon has traveled widely and is extremely adept in the wilds and woodlands. Even the elves accept and respect his abilities although they think him crude and he could certainly bathe more. Jonathon doesn’t know how to read or write, but he is very intuitive in dealing with tribal customs and mores. He isn’t afraid for a good fight but he prefers things of nature. Dungeons, undead, and magic are mysteries and he’d rather not deal with them if such can be avoided. He doesn’t worry a lot about civilizations rules & niceties. Be fair, trustworthy, and stout hearted.