Jorin is the son of a fierce fisherman, who left the Vyranni and immigrated to Kaedrin in search of warmth and a new life. There he met Jorin’s mother, a widowed farmer, who was the only soul kind enough to tolerate the father’s temper. They lived together uneventfully, tending their small farm, until Jorin was 15. At this point, war broke out, and though the family had stayed out of politics, the lords of the land they called home called Jorin’s father away to battle. He never returned, another fallen soldier in the War of Two Emperors. Ever since, Jorin has had a healthy mistrust of politics and the nobility.
As the new man of the household, Jorin became skilled at farming and fishing, taught by his mother. He also became adept at using his hands, having frequently to mend the cottage roof, and the surrounding fences, by himself – they were too poor to hire anyone else to work on the farm. Eventually, a drought left them in such crushing debt that they were evicted from the family farm, and forced to roam the roads of Kaedrin to survive. Jorin’s mother passed away soon after, of weariness, at the side of the main road. Ever since, Jorin has been working odd jobs when he can find them, helping fisherman, working on farms, and assisting in small building projects and digging ditches. Now 21, Jorin is a survivalist. Though he is poor, he now travels through the capitals of the world in search of opportunity, and hopes one day to have land and a cottage of his own.
Jorin blinks, wondering why a well-dressed gentleman is talking so warmly to a scruffy stranger down at the docks.
“Wealth, if you’re offering,” Jorin says with a grin. He shakes his head, intending to brush past the man and continue on his way.
“Well I can actually help you there...I’m short a bit of capital, and if you were to help me with just a small fee and invest in my upcoming venture, I could make you richer than your wildest dreams! This mighty bazaar is nothing compared to the wondrous places I frequent with my trade,” the gentleman exclaims, offering Jorin another welcoming smile.
Jorin frowns, angered at being asked for money, while brushing aside the rumbling of his hollow stomache.
“Do you think me some kind of fool? Handing out money to strangers at the docks? Bugger off, before I invest my boot in your up-and-coming face!” growls Jorin, before he shoves his way passed the gentleman and keeps walking. A healthy distrust for any ‘gentleman’ figures, the stranger’s request for money, and the seemingly obvious nature of the scam made him furious. He shook his head again as he wove his way through the bazaar, glowering at the hawkers and vendors.
Back at the docks, the gentleman shook his head, marveling at the stranger’s rudeness. He turned to the guard beside him, and said “I assure you, I’ll have the small fee to pay for the release of my cargo soon enough; you’ll regret wasting my time with these politics.” The merchant shook his head again, thinking of his cargo of spices that had been confiscated just that morning, for want of a docking fee he had forgotten to pay for his ship.
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