#jorsef

[jorsef-ironshield]

GORGEOUS family photo of Jorsef and Maescia ( @redheaded-heroine )!!!  Done by @ran196242 , fantastic person, incredible artist, and a good friend.

[jorsef-ironshield]

“The Light will always love you,” His mother whispered, as her fingers pushed his light red hair from his eyes.

Jorsef, at the ripe age of eight years, looked up to his mother, and past her, in wonder. She smiled sweetly down to him, and held him close, “An’ no matter what happens, my sweet boy. I will always love you.”

---

Jorsef clutched onto the small necklace he wore, within, a picture of his dear mother. “Ya’d have loved ta’ see me now, mum,” He whispered, as he opened the window in his attic to let the chilly, Northrend air in, and to look over the estate. A soft rustle moved to his flank, and the Lord eyed the slumbering elf briefly. Ya’ would’a loved her, too.”

[jorsef-ironshield]

Who He Is, and Why.

This would define who he was, for the rest of his life. Rain fell so heavily against the young guard’s plate helmet. His soft brown eyes flicked back and forth, as he struggled to hear the shouting match between a group of his fellow guard, and a young, homeless man, trying desperately to defend himself against them.

----------

The guard, fresh meat among his ranks and no older than eighteen, was summoned with his squad to attend to the shouts of a thief sprinting through the market streets of Gilneas. When he arrived on the scene, the rain was pouring, as it often did. The brick streets of his city glistened as the water slicked their surfaces, and the barely risen sun shined down. The sky was still dark at the time, and the woman doing the shouting could barely be heard over the hearty, endless pattering of the thick drops splashing down against the ground. The woman who summoned them was known for being a prude. She had taunted the young guard and his struggling family when he was a boy, while successfully selling jewelry even the King of their lands knew was imported illegally. But of course as the young man approached, she was too busy tending to wounds that were not there to notice who he was. She simply demanded the guards that serve her, to retrieve what was stolen from her. 

Heavy plated boots of five strong men crashed against the gathering water of the Gilnean streets as they pursued the brief flash of a beggar that chose the wrong alley to hide in.  “Stop!” “You’re under arrest!” The beggar panted heavily and stumbled as his chilled, bare feet carried him further away.

“Jorsef!” A voice shouted. The young guard turned towards his captain. His brown eyes were wide, and his heart was beating. The cold wetness clung to the young man’s plate and leather, adding greatly to the weight his body carried. “Go around th’ left! Cut him off on th’ other side’a th’ street!” With a nod, the young man adjusted his helm, and turned on his heel to sprint around the corner, and down the next block’s street.  His own heavy breathing was the only thing he heard more loudly than the growing rain that fell so loudly upon his plate helmet. He struggled to maintain his grip on the leather that curled around the hilt of his straight sword, but still, he sprinted.

He was faster than the beggar. As he turned the corner, he prepared himself for an impact that never came. Instead, he was given a view of his fellow guards beating the beggar senselessly.

---------

Cries for help were muffled by the rain, and yet Jorsef could imagine every crunching noise that came with the pommels and steel boots that struck the man’s breaking bones. Still, the beggar did his best to escape, hands clinging to the wrapped up items he had no doubt stolen. Somehow, the man slipped from the guardsmen, cutting their cruel laughter short. His overgrown and unkempt hair stuck to the sides of his unwashed features. He sprinted down the path, directly to Jorsef. Time stopped. In that moment, the young guard could see the wide, sobbing eyes of the poor man. He could see the bright blue hues of his fellow human being, and he could see the scars that covered his rough, mistreated skin. In the criminal’s arms was not jewelry, but food. Loafs and loafs of bread, enough to feed a family for weeks.  This man was hungry. This man had others to feed. This man had known so much pain, and deserved so little of it. They would punish his failure. They would taunt him, and destroy his confidence as best they could. But it was the right thing to do. But he would suffer for it. But it was the right thing to do. But it could ruin him. His hurt would be nothing compared to the pain this beggar’s death would bring his family. In that moment, as brief as it was, Jorsef knew what his choice was. He knew, in that moment, what his choice would -always- be. He stepped to the left, and caught the man in his arms, spinning them both briefly. He faked a struggle to hold the beggar, even though the man gave no resistance and begged for his life. “Shove my face, and run,” Jorsef whispered, “Run to yer family, I beg you. You will live this day.” Jorsef grunted, as a filthy hand grabbed at his helmet, and shoved him backwards. The young man was strong, but he was also a decent actor. Groans left him, as he writhed in fake but believable pain, and as the beggar turned the distant corner, their eyes met. There was a soft smile on the beggar’s face, and that was all Jorsef needed. It was all he would ever need.

“You fuckin’ idiot!” his Captain shouted, as he jogged beside Jorsef and yanked him to his feet, only to punch him right back down to the washed out stone streets. “Ya’ve always been a stupid fuck, Jorsef! You worthless fuckin’ bastard!” “Aye! A fuckin’ failure on yer first day’a duty!” “Look’t his stupid fuckin’ face!” His fellow guards taunted him, as he closed his eyes and stood to his feet. With a shove into a nearby wall, Jorsef grunted, and his captain brought his face close to the young man’s. “Yer goin’ ta’ wall duty, boy. I won’t have an idiot in my squad.” This was the path he chose. “Yes sir,” He muttered in return. They would, as they always had, mistake his kindness for weakness. His big heart would, to others, mean a lacking mind. His choices, though not logical to his peers, would always be in the best interest to those who deserved them. That was fine, however. No words, no pains, no actions, would stop him from doing what was right.

[jorsef-ironshield]

Look at this fantastic commission for Jorsef Ironshield! By robinaa.tumblr.com @robinaa

[jorsef-ironshield]

The New Lord’s Vow

I will keep a good heart, no matter how this new duty may try to break me. I will maintain composure, in the hardest of situations, and fight, both verbally and physically, for the best outcome. I will stand for the weak, as well as the powerful. I will not let my morality be black and white, and I will align myself with those that deserve and need my help, not those that simply want it. I will lead my people to fuller lives. I will keep those I care for healthy, and happy, while making profit, to continue to expand what I own. And Light help me, I will do my best by others. I will not fall prey, to the evil that dwells within the heart of man.  I am a good man, before I am a Knight. I am a Knight, before I am a Lord. These, are the priority of my motives. These are my choices, my defining thoughts.  Loyalty, honor, and love. Such things will die with me.

I am the Lord of House Ironshield, and I will defy our past, and create a better future, no matter how much weight may crush my back. 

[jorsef-ironshield]

Heavy Burdens Upon a Strong Back

Rushing wind filled the Lord’s ears as the adrenaline left him. Smoke exploded outwards around him, and bones cracked and groaned. His form shifted, his armor adjusted, and in an instant, he was man once more.

Screams of pain that were moments ago deafened by his blood lust, now grew louder and louder. Shouts for assistance rang out, and bodies ran across grass and sand to help one another. He could hear their footsteps so well, with so much focus. 

As his chest heaved, he looked downwards. His dirty gloves wrapped around the handles on his pole arm, and his plate was coated in different colored bloods. As he habitually licked his lips, he could taste the thick, metallic-flavored liquid that rested and dried against his features. The fighting for the night was over, and it was time to head back north.  Emotions flooded him. His friends were harmed. Those he cared for so much more than they did him, were in so much pain. He knew no healing, he knew no support. He knew only war and conversation. He knew instinct and blood lust. He couldn’t help these people so close to death. His only skill applied to the mauled, mangled, and bloodied bodies he flung just moments before into the dirt.

—

Hours later, as he walked into the cabin he was to live in temporarily, a familiar face approached. Kaerlic, his brother, smiled a wide grin as he walked aside the Lord, and patted his back.

“Ya’ look like ya’ saw a ghost, Jorsef. Ya’ okay?” the captain more shouted than spoke.

Jorsef flashed his grin. He found it easy to convince others all was well. A good skill for a Lord to have, or so he at least told himself. “Aye, brother,” he said in return, “I just gotta clean up an-”

“-Aye good! Right well, here’s th’ deal. Supplies on th’ food side’a things are gettin’ low for yer people, and my crew’re gettin’ jumpy. Ammo’s gettin’ low, and we’re gonna need transportin’ for lumber soon as we build out more an’ more.”

A grunt, and a sigh left Jorsef’s lips, as his happy demeanor faded. He nodded to his younger brother, and rolled his tired eyes, “Aye… okay. I will talk ta’ Sycamoore about fundin’ for ammo, and yer crew can shoot their own food.” Kaerlic shook his head and winked. The cocky attitude the captain held was as vibrant and obnoxious as ever, “Uh uh nope. Mate they need fruit, they need desserts. I gotta make m’ people ‘appy if they’re here workin’ shit they didn’ sign up for an’ freezin’ their arses off.”

Jorsef opened the door to his cabin as his brother talked, and quickly stepped in. He stopped his brother outside the cabin, and nodded to him, “Aye, aye, aye. Fuckin’ hell Kaerlic.” he roared, “Ya’ can’t go fuckin’ ambushin’ me with yer shite arsed information when I had a fuckin’ busy day like a Light damned adult.” 

Kaerlic’s eyes widened as he listened to his brother rant, and frowned a bit. He watched as his bigger brother’s chest heaved for a few moments after his words ceased, and the thought that his brother was not well after all entered his mind. With a click of his tongue, he nodded, and spoke in a soft tone, “Aye big brother, okay. Be uh, be good.”

Jorsef’s features tried to soften, but failed. He instead kept his feral gaze. He instead growled and slammed the door behind him. He stripped his armor lazily, leaving pieces along the hallway as he basically dropped to the floor next to the fireplace. 

There he laid, looking upwards. Several times, he would make his way to the food storage, and come back to once more lay nude in front of the fireplace. A flask in one hand, jerky in the other, he’d stay there. He’d try to soothe his tortured, roaring soul. 

The stress did not leave him however. The stress fueled him, it kept his adrenaline flowing even hours after the combat of the day. He could feel his endless need to eat. He needed to fight, he needed to feel pain and inflict it. It was all he knew. It was the instinct given to him. It was all he knew. It was all he was good at. It was all he knew. 

At some point that night, he fell asleep. His dreams were of battles previously fought on the front line. First cultists, then orcs. Demons began to rain down hell fire as his dream came to an end. He could feel their endless heat scorching his skin, his hair. But no longer did it phase him. In this state of stress and burden, there was a morbid sense of relief.

[jorsef-ironshield]

Another Year of the Same Ol’ Thing

He sat quietly in his living room. In front of him, on a table, sat a small cupcake. A candle flickered as it stood upwards from the frosted treat. His living room was empty, filled with nothing but the flickering lights and sounds of the fireplace he sat close to. 

In the corner of the room, a birdcage swung gently, its resident long gone. Old food and scraps of twigs clung to its inner base, like Jorsef did to the memories of love for his late feathered friend.

With a huff of air, he blew away the candle’s flame. As the dancing light faded, it mimicked the spark often seen in the Lord’s brown eyes when given poor news. It was another quiet night. Those he told may have been busy, or forgotten. 

It’s been a very low week for everyone. They had their reasons to forget. Their minds found realistically important matters to focus on instead. He held no ill will towards anyone. This was simply, how it was. How it’s been.

He missed his youth in Gilneas, in that moment. As his eyes closed and he brought the cold, worn opening of his flask to his lips to empty its heavy contents, he could almost feel his mother’s hands on his shoulders. If he listened closely, if he let the sway of his liquid spirits take his senses, he could hear the shouts for joy his sisters aimed at him. The smell of his mother’s famous stew barraged his nostrils, and it was so real he could almost reach out and take the ladle in hand.

But his eyes opened, a moment later. His soft brown hues scanned across his apartment, and lingered on the sight of his wide, empty couch. He smelled nothing but his hearth burning next to him, and tasted only the stinging sweetness his rum splashed against his tongue. Through the flames of his fireplace, he could still feel the cold. A hot summer evening, and yet, the air closest to him shook him to his core.  As he laid back into the cushions of his couch, his eyes looked upwards towards the roof of his wide, empty apartment. The intensity of his drink washed over him, and with the dulling to his senses, came a more manageable state of emotions. His eyes closed, and he dreamed of nothing that evening.

[jorsef-ironshield]

Comfort

I found comfort as the trial ended, in food and fighting.

I felt a vicious hunger, a desperate, feral need to eat. I needed to feel my teeth shred apart something. My fingers part away whatever blocked my teeth from pulling inwards another bite. My bones ached for it, my stomach rumbled.

I needed to fight. I looked for anyone who would spar. Anyone who would bash away at my plate. How I yearned for the feeling of blunt force hitting my chest, cracking a rib. How much I needed to feel the rush of a roaring swing sent towards my foe’s torso.  I felt the need to dive into these primal things, for that’s how I handled such fear and pain in my past. I had the chance to die, even if it were a simulation, to die right there. Swinging away, like a hero. Like I’ve wanted to since Gilneas fell. I lost my chance to go down the way I wished to, the way I’ve needed to.

And it left my heart and soul in pieces. Frustration and a flustering sense of failure washed over me and all I could think to do was eat, and fight.

Just eat, and fight.

But it was not food nor combat where I found comfort.

My comfort came to me sitting in front of a hearth that was not mine. On a floor, that was not my own. Arms clung to me, and I felt no need for them to harm. I felt no need to defend myself. I had no need for armor in that moment.

After fear and death takes its toll on those who dedicate their body and mind to war, there is rarely an easy way to cope. Even when it is found, it rarely soothes the soul. But last night, my soul was made soft and vulnerable, and in that moment, it had reached a point of calmness it had not seen since long before the wall had fallen.