Jostan Lorgash

Trollshen of a Scarsfell kriel, a logdriver with sorcerous talents

Description:

Age: 21. Died Gorim 6th, Cinten 570 AR.
Height: 5’6", Weight: 185
Eyes: White Quills: Blue, cropped.

Short and broad-chested, with a complexion to match his icy homeland, Jostan Lorgash was a confident, jovial trollkin with a troublesome smile. His features were chiselled, and his blue quills were scarce and short, leaving his head mostly bare. He was unusually tall for an albino trollkin, but it would be difficult for most folks to discern that as he was still smaller than the average member of his kith.

Jostan was always wrapped up in a massive hooded greatcoat, apparently very old and handcrafted from the skin of two identical dire wolves. He clearly doted on it, wearing it proudly as he did his blue and green quitari, visible beneath the coat. He carried a large, cylindrical leather satchel strapped across his back. The trollkin armed himself with a very long Peavey hook, which clearly identified him as a logdriver, and carried a few extra gaff hooks. He kept a small wooden buckler clipped to his belt.

Bio:

The winters of Jostan’s youth were not easy. The biting Scarsfell winds and frozen earth meant that vegetation was scarce and the herbivores that formed the basis of their diet even more scarce. The Nord kriel suffered greatly during those years: subject to attacks by wild beast and fullblood troll alike, as well as a number of other nearby kriels vying for territory. Jostan, like all able-bodied kith in those days, cut his teeth early fighting to defend their hunting lands. He learned much of his basic skills from his elder sister, a huntress of high esteem among the kith of Scarsfell.

Jostan was born of a seamstress and mason, but unlike his siblings, his icy complexion meant he was destined for great things, and as such was taken quickly into the tutelage of the Council of Stones, along with two other students. Much to the disappointment of the Council, the kriel as a whole, and most of all
his parents, the boy didn’t take well to his arcane training. In fact, Jostan spent most of his time causing trouble – very often causing the kriel to spend precious daylight hours tracking him down or undoing the damage he did. He picked fights frequently, stole game from the hunters, interfered with kriel business, and on more than one occasion risked infractions on the tenuous alliances with the nearby kriels. It was only through raw force of personality that he was able to get away with as much as he did, and he was still a mark of shame on his family line, especially to his sister who felt responsible for him.

The Council nearly gave up on him, but Jostan’s opportunity to show his true colors came quickly and without warning.

The kriel was attacked in the night by the underhanded warriors of a neighboring kriel, assisted by betrayers within the Nord. Jostan took up arms and fought to defend his home, but despite the best efforts of him and his kith, the village was set ablaze and nearly razed to the ground. Left in the smoking aftermath, he and many others volunteered to the Council to go upriver and seek lumber. The Council, worried that without continued tutelage he might lose his arcane gift for good, nonetheless agreed to send him, hoping it might bring about the appreciation of authority and responsibility that was thusfar lacking.

A lumber camp was established upriver and this was where Jostan spent the next year of his life. It was only there, among the older shen that he was able to focus on his arcane talents at all, and made attempts to entertain his seniors by levitating dishes or changing the color of another’s quitari. The latter stunt, of course, caused nearly as many fights as he’d previously gotten in, despite the fact that the effect nearly always faded.

Jostan’s contact with the kriel was pretty frequent as he followed the felled logs downriver and was ultimately responsible for their safe delivery. He saw slices of life going by without his interference, including his sister courting an older shen and their eventual marriage. Feeling somewhat lost without his sister and marginally resentful towards her mate, this only magnified his unruly behavior and eventually it got to the point where the camp foreman sent him back to the kriel for good, despite his apparent skill with the lumber.

He resumed tutelage, this time in earnest, and competed fiercely with the other sorcerers, though they had spent the past year in constant training, whereas he had just barely learned a cantrip. When the time came to pass on the Shamanic Greatcoat of Winter’s Stillness, the Council argued that the other two sorcerers were far more appropriate recipients, however the chieftain and shaman finally agreed that Jostan was in greater need of the item, to counter his uncontrollable bad temper. Upon coming of age, Jostan Lorgash was granted the heirloom, under the oath that he at least try to remember the value of stillness as well as motion.

As shen and sorcerer, Jostan packed his things, donned his cloak, and headed out into the wilderness of Scarsfell to seek his fortune, spending many months in the forests before reaching the human settlement of Uldenfrost, where he joined on as a mercenary under the employ of Professor Clapton and his expedition from Corvis University. Another mercenary named Asyazoya Sokol had saved his life, after the trollkin sustained a head injury from a rampaging warjack, and Jostan felt this was a sign that he should accompany the Khadoran mechanik on her journey. The trollkin was never the same after his injury, though, taking on a gruff and sarcastic tone with his companions. His recklessness became even more exaggerated as the party fought off wild beasts during their travels.

On Gorim the 6th, 570AR, Jostan perished tragically in combat after having charged into battle to save his friends from the attacks of a hungry winter troll. Outmatched by the savage opponent, the albino logdriver died instantly when the beast bit him around the arms, neck, and head.

Jostan Lorgash

Iron Kingdoms: Flight from the North Whimper