Appearance

Geared for Combat:
Wary of his foe and unsure how best to handle this creatures reach advantage, Jaeden took a step back as he drew his magnificent greatsword from its resting place at his back. For a moment he stood there, sword in hand and crimson cloak billowing gently in the wind as he observed the 14’ monstrosity before him. The man’s head was uncovered, the dark stubble of his shaved head open to the fresh morning air. His silvery plate mail gleamed in the sun, in stark contrast to the dull charcoal of his gauntlets. The Ettin was not impressed. With two great roars it charged, club held high and ready to crush the life from the Human who opposed it. A slight narrowing of the man’s dark brown eyes was all the response it got.

Casual:
Neither timidly nor with excessive bravado, the newcomer entered the tavern and in a measured pace approached the bar. His walk was light and his face showed neither frown nor smile as he made his way. As he always seemed to, the man attracted the attention of those drinking and gaming. Perhaps his fine silk shirt and flowing silk pants, both a light shade of black, were the cause of this. Perhaps it was the way he moved, balanced like a cat ready to pounce. But then again perhaps it was the huge, and obviously well crafted sword comfortably strapped to his back.

Reaching the bar the newcomer stretched lazily, bringing his hand down and running it over the dark stubble of his shaved head.

“Your finest Elven wine good barkeep.” The man spoke softly yet his voice carried well enough to be heard by the barkeep, who promptly filled the request.

Setting the glass down in front of him the barkeep looked into his brown eyes, “I be wantin no trouble this night, ye hear lad?”
With a soft sigh the man responded, “Neither do I good barkeep, neither do I.”

Personality
The concept of courage is a pivotal one in the makeup of Jaeden Ohm. Courage, he has found, has less to do with standing toe to toe with a giant then it has to do with trying to follow the right course and accepting those circumstances that cannot be changed. Jaeden is generally friendly and open but is prone to fits of self-reflection. During these times he can become quite introverted and closed to others.

He is wary of obsession, having learned that final lesson from his father well. While he is quick to help his friends Jaeden is also quick to judge them, an unfortunate result of his time with the Mailed Fist. He is quiet for the most part but well spoken when he is moved to engage verbally. While still a fighter first in his reflexes, he has been trying to temper that impulse with the knowledge that diplomacy can often save much blood.

History
For five generations the Ohm family estate grew in wealth as the family itself grew in reputation. By the time the sixth generation was born the family’s wealth was well established and most of its enterprises were managed by hired help. Thus the firstborn of the sixth generation was well cared for and had enough free time to pursue his interest with absolute dedication. And so Addicus Ohm worked hard to master his blade work. He trained with any blades he could get his hands on but his chosen blade was always the greatsword. Addicus was not a man of tremendous strength but he found it to his advantage that people expected a greatsword to be handled in a particular manner. By using smaller, quicker, and more efficient movements he found that he could still use the large blade effectively and that he often threw his opponents off their guard.

As his father aged Addicus was expected to take on more of the few remaining management responsibilities but his dedication to the blade was fast becoming an obsession. He hired out more and more until finally, at the time of this official inheritance, all of the management responsibilities were handled by those not of the family. This was the stage upon which Jaeden Ohm was born.

While still far more than an able warrior, at 35 Addicus knew that soon his strength and speed would begin to decline. He worked on techniques that were less dependent on physical attributes and taught them to Jaeden. Into his son did Addicus pour the sum total of his knowledge and the boy was an eager pupil. By 15 Jaeden had not only trained with his father, but had traveled wide to train with many other masters. In the circles that care about such things, he was already considered an accomplished swordsman. By 17 the young mans strength had grown to far surpass his fathers, the effects of a decade and a half of constant training at such an impressionable age leaving it’s distinctive mark. He had strength, he had speed, and he had his father’s special techniques for more efficient swordplay. All he lacked was experience.

On his 19th birthday Jaeden returned home from a year and half spent with Edrik Ghardd, a beast of man and a tremendous fighter. Edrik’s fighting style made full use of his great strength and the training rounded out Jaeden’s skill set nicely. The youth’s homecoming however did not turn out so nicely. Upon his return he found the gates to his family home chained and locked. Slipping into the complex he found the home to be completely empty. The story, as he at first had to piece together from various sources, was that there had been some questionable management going on and the family fortune had been wiped out. Jaeden’s parents had been forced to sell off everything to pay their debtors and had had just enough left to get a small home in the Hind Quarter of Plateau City. His father, he learned, had taken up a job as an instructor for arena fighters. With the help of a family friend he found his parent’s new home and as the sun went down he knocked on the plain wooden door of their new residence.

The past year and a half had not been kind to his parents.

“I was blinded Jaeden,” His father said as they sat at the kitchen table, Jaeden’s query writ plainly on his face. “… blinded by my own obsession.” The conversation continued and as night turned to early morning Jaeden wondered if, for his father, perhaps this dark cloud had a silver lining. The last of their conversation before they slept gave Jaeden another surprise. His father had just risen to retrieve a small fine pouch embroidered with the Ohm family coat of arms from the bedroom. Jaeden recognized the pouch as one of the two Ohm family heirlooms. With his first coins Jaeden’s ancestor had purchased this pouch and had proclaimed that this pouch would be the beginning of the Ohm fortune. Addicus tossed the bag on the table and with a heavy clink it landed before Jaeden. “50 gold coins.” He stated matter of factly. “You won’t be able to live like you’re use to, but it’ll help to get yourself started.” For a few moments they just sat there considering the turn of events before his father continued. “You’ll always be welcome here Jaeden, but it’s time you made your own way in the Wold.” The following morning Addicus presented Jaeden with the second of the two Ohm family Heirlooms. “I don’t know what path you’ll choose, but this should at least help to keep you safe.” With those words he handed Jaeden the fabulous greatsword that his grandfather had first acquired as a gift for Addicus, an enchanted blade of adamantine.

Jaeden tried his hand at a few odd jobs but nothing seemed to satisfy him and he did not enjoy being so pulled from his weapons practice. Thus when a chance encounter ended with an invitation to join a small mercenary company by the name of Ebon Dawn, he jumped at the opportunity. The commander of the small company was a good man and very picky about assignments, only accepting offers from those he judged to be “in the right”. For seven years Jaeden served with the Ebon Dawn, moving quickly through the ranks as he proved himself again and again.

A month into his eighth year his commander and one of three sub-commanders were killed in a surprise maneuver during a difficult campaign. The two remaining sub-commanders managed to pull the Ebon Dawn through to the end but the company’s morale was left in tatters. About the same time the Mailed Fist, one of the most well known mercenary companies in the Wold, was looking to swell it’s membership considerably. Seeing an opportunity to do this in one swift move the Mailed Fist offered to absorb Ebon Dawn into its ranks. Those who transferred to the Fist were paid a decent bonus, scattered throughout the existing ranks, and efficiently assimilated into the massive mercenary organization.

For Jaeden this meant a drop in both rank and pay but the young man wasn’t bothered. At least, he figured at the time, he’d have a chance to advance in the most well known of all mercenary companies. His first campaign with the Fist went well. It lasted about a year and a half and Jaeden earned himself a minor promotion. After a brief respite he was assigned to his next campaign, an ugly territory grab by a ruthless ruler. As soon as he arrived to the Fist’s camp he knew that this was an entirely different campaign then any he had been in before.

Over the next six months his uneasiness grew as the “rightness” of their actions grew more and more questionable. And then one day his world fell apart. It was the first real action his troop saw during this campaign and to this day he is haunted by memories of that terrible day. The Fist’s employer had levied a tax against a border village belonging to the neighboring kingdom and the village had refused to pay. Jaeden’s troop was sent in to wipe out the village as a threat to other border towns. It was a complete slaughter and none from the village survived.

That night a severe storm broke and Jaeden had mid-watch guard duty. A hill giant could have snuck passed him as troubled as he was. He tried desperately to suppress his conscience but had no success. He could not deny the wrongness of his troops current actions and felt he must leave. Some would think him a coward or deserter, and he would be leaving the only thing he knew, but still he knew he must leave. Just as he had accepted the decision to leave, a tingling in his hand demanded his attention. Stripping off his gauntlet he noticed a strange tattoo in the shape of a broken pinwheel. Unable to discover the mystery of the tattoo he shrugged and headed into the storm, leaving the Mailed Fist and the life he had lived for the past 9 years behind.

For the next twenty two months Jaeden bounced around from place to place. Sometimes joining an adventuring group for a time and sometimes signing on as a caravan guard. He tried to discover anything he could about the tattoo that had appeared on his hand but none knew anything helpful.

And then the Crones made his destiny a bit more clear…