Brother Jakob's Backstory

One never knows which way the wind will blow at Jade Feather; high in the Stonetower Mountains, the breezes are as ephemeral as they are cold. The monastery stands in marked contrast, carved into the very rock. Sharp points and precarious gravel slides paint the mountainside in red and gray, and no paths can be discerned. It is fully forty winding miles to the nearest road, and that itself is the high and treacherous Unlit Pass. There are no easy paths to Jade Feather. The monks prefer it that way. The simple act of coming and going is an exercise in both discipline and dexterity.

Yet the gates of Jade Feather are open to all who make the journey. Tolerence is the byword of the monastery, and strength from weakness its motto. Entry is never refused those who submit to the grueling challenge of reaching the gate, and training is never refused those who submit to the stern commands of its masters. Orphaned girls and lost goblins have passed its gates and emerged many years later as changed creatures, yet most commonly young warriors and monks visit to seek instruction and wisdom.

One such Jacob Newfellow had sought instruction at the gates of Jade Feather in years past. A young soldier, he was fascinated with the art of war, with the myriad forms of movement--be they a graceful dance or an expedient improvisation--which led to victory. He sought to study as many of these paths as possible, visiting Jade Feather on his long journey from the brutal Gherni Pits of Pain in the West to the renowned Seven Wooden Swords on the cliffs bordering the eastern sea. Whether due to his broad experience, his passion for the art, or some innate talent, his mastery over the basics of the seven schools favored by the Jade Feather monks was swift. A mere two years after entering the gates, he acheived the rank of Wanderer. At this rank, he was expected to wander the world, seeking his own enlightenment and mastering his own style. Wanderers returned when they believed themselves Masters, and if Jade Feather agreed, they returned to the school as peers and fellow students with their former masters.

Jacob took his leave of the monastery and continued his journeys throughout the world, seeking schools, instruction, or simple experience wherever he could find them. He worked as a mercenary, and was more highly sought as the years went by. Some fifteen years after his departure from Jade Feather saw him assisting militia in the enchanted forest, teaching hobgoblin raiders unforgettable lessons. One such raid was particularly brutal; the hobgoblins breached the walls of a village, and had slain many of its inhabitants before Jacob and his fellows could arrive.

In such cases, it was his habit to pick up the pieces, seeking out survivors and clearing rubble. On this particular day, he came upon a familiar sight: a broken shack at the edge of the villiage, its roof and walls in pieces. Within was the body of a girl; perhaps 15 or 16. Jacob had trained at Ghern, and knew firsthand their brutal methods; this was typical of their work. All signs were that she lived alone, and the tender-kept infant's bed of rags explained that. Indeed, such outcasts on the edges of the village were usually the first hit by these raids and the least missed.

Jacob looked over to the tiny bed, and was taken aback. The child was alive, but was not human--not remotely. It was--at best guess--a foundling ogre? Too soft for that; a half-ogre, then. He let out a low whistle. And about six months old, too. Such aberrations were usually abandoned to the wild, and here this one had been nurtured this long.

Jacob stood a while in thought. It was a scene he had encountered many times before, but usually the baby was human, and the village held an aunt or a grandmother or at least a merciful friend. That was unlikely here. Ogres were a menace in the region, and no one willingly chose a monster for a son. Except, apparently, that someone had. Jacob himself was inclined to leave it, but its mother had clearly thought it worth caring for. Surely that was worth something. Who would care for it now? Certainly not Jacob Newfellow, the mercenary. No one would accept it, except for . . .

. . . except Jade Feather, which turned away none who made the journey.

Taking leave of his present company, Jacob Newfellow made the four week journey to his old home. The visit was brief; conversations with old masters about what he had learned in the wide world--with the implicit agreement that he was no master yet, and a quick explanation of the child's origin. The monks, true to their promise, did not turn him away, and named him for his benefactor. So Brother Jakob was born. Jacob Newfellow was gone that same night.

Life at Jade Feather was demanding, but not unpleasant. Everyone in the monastery, from the youngest to the oldest, rose an hour before dawn, completed all chores and meditations, and was present in the courtyard at sunrise. Together, they underwent eight hours of demanding physical training, followed by four hours of no less demanding study. The simplest matters were done with utmost care and precision; the sweeping of the courtyard--which for many years was Jakob's duty--was to be done four times, once in each of four directions.

Some found the rigor hard, while others found it invigorating. Even as a young boy, Jakob was in the latter class. There were drills and exercises, meditations and self-disciplinary studies. Once they spent an entire morning striking a target a thousand times exactly the same way. Some students chafed at what seemed like makework; Jakob struck a thousand times, consciously seeking to understand what it was he was to learn. By noon, he was not satisfied that he had learned it, and continued until three in the afternoon, when at last he accepted his own work. At barely six years of age, the Masters marked with approval his integrity in his studies.

Fully half of the day was devoted to sparring--between peers, between masters and students, across schools and across ranks. Everyone fought everyone, and anyone was open to challenge at any time. Excellence had to be proven daily. Jakob--the youngest at the monastary for many years--was often sought out for his size. It was not only his peers who challenged him, but often much more advanced students who saw in his physical advantages and monstrous bearing a worthy challenge with which to impress their masters. In fact, it was with Jakob the masters were usually impressed. While often consciously intimidated by his opponents' skill, he was never cowed, and made good use of his superior reach and bulk to trip and grapple his foes, rendering his opponents' beautifully-executed maneuvers ineffective. Lacking the skill to truly retaliate against the more able monks, Jakob didn't think much of his own crude attempts to frustrate them--but the wily masters credited him with victories over much older students, and commented on the warrior spirit he manifested.

At twelve, two years early, he was taken on by a master: the venerable Master Michael, the expert in the Setting Sun school. Brother Michael, at over eighty, could still throw young men in their prime like sticks. Rare was the opponent who could pierce his defense. His matches often ended like Jakob's: with the foe sprawled ignobly on the ground and feeling humiliated as much as bruised.

Brother Michael was warm and engaging, the very picture of humility, but woe to the student who perceived his humor as weakness. His method was one of encouragement to uncompromising rigor. He was the most forgiving of the masters, but was also the most easily underestimated--quick to apply a lesson broadly, to construe an assignment laboriously. He was an ideal teacher for young Jakob, as their techniques closely matched. Moreover, Jakob wanted to study grappling, and Michael was the only of the masters who knew anything about it. Most considered the art too low and ungraceful to merit attention, focusing on the more beautiful strikes and maneuvers. Brother Michael knew better, and like his student, would exploit his opponents' hubris to bring the most skilled an ignoble defeat. He taught that strength lay in victory, not beauty, and that ultimate strength was demonstrated by bringing about bloodless capitulation. He taught broad tolerence of many styles and creatures, saying that there was always something to learn. Despite Brother Jakob's immense advantages in bulk and strength, it was several years before he was able to pin his master even once. Years went by pleasantly for Brother Jakob under Master Michael, and he continued to gain distinction at Jade Feather as he approached the rank of Wanderer.

Back when Brother Michael became Master Michael, his first act had been to seek out a distant oracle. He had spent half a lifetime achieving great skill, so he had then asked what he might best accomplish with it. Apparently, the oracle had given him a quest. While he never spoke of the details, he mentioned the quest itself often. Then suddenly, as Jakob approached his tests, Brother Michael announced that he was going to the Mount of Shadow to pursue his quest. The news he received must have been urgent, for he was not one to lightly abandon his students. He stated that he hoped to return within the week. Yet weeks went by, and he did not return. At last, Brother Jakob sought permission from the abbot to follow his master.

The trail was long cold when Jakob set foot in the windswept outdoors. The Mount of Shadow was vast. It was so named for its many shadowed crevices, one of which was the Unlit Pass. Jakob methodically investigated every cave and crevice. For seven days and nights, he circled the mountain, with no clue as to his master's whereabouts but the eerie shrieks in the night. The mountain was known to be haunted, though Jakob was confident of both his and his master's skills, and did not fear the spectres.

On the eighth night, he woke to a cry for help from one of the caves along the road. Rising instantly and running to the cave, he saw in the shadowy starlight that he was too late--two wraiths, and a heap of equipment in an empty camp. The wraiths turned to him with murderous hunger, and he returned no less grim an expression. He slew the first easily as it approached, but the second chilled his heart: he saw in its face a mockery of his old master's, and its tattered robes bore the emboidered jade feather. It was none other than the twisted remains of Brother Michael's soul, murdering travellers on the road.

Grim battle was joined. The cold eyes of the wraith betrayed no recognition, and though its movements half recalled the maneuvers it had known in life, the wraith's hunger dominated Brother Michael's famous restraint. Swallowing his grief at his master's death and failure, Brother Jakob used every trick he had been taught against his old friend. Once, twice, three times the wraith struck him, chilling him to the bone, but in the end Jakob had the victory. As the wraith vanished into the nether world with a silent black flame like rushing wind, Brother Jakob himself collapsed to the cave floor, crippled by the battle.

He rose, as was customary, an hour before dawn, and carried out his chores and meditations. The sundries of both the hapless traveller and old Brother Michael were buried, though Jakob kept the now-tattered robes of his master. Then without further ceremony, he returned to Jade Feather.

The abbot, Brother Lawrence, listened intently to Jakob's tale, and announced a day of mourning for the passing of a great monk. Jakob was allowed to take the Wanderer's test from Lawrence himself, and passed it easily. Then he was told that Brother Michael had left the details of his quest behind, with instructions to pass them on to Jakob when he himself became a master--or sooner, should the world warrant. For now, Jakob was to take up the Wanderer's quest, and seek enlightenment and mastery in the wide world.

Jakob left that very night, at first merely travelling the roads (a dangerous task in itself). Bandits haplessly found him both penniless and dangerous, but beasts and savages pursued him nonetheless.

Jakob had always felt a close affinity to animals--whether because they too were unimpressed by flashy styles or because of his monstrous heritage. One day, a group of Kingsmen patrolling a road came upon Jakob wrestling with a Dire Wolf, the violent beast playing like a puppy with the rough blows of the big half-ogre. Impressed, they invited him to join them, and--seeing an opportunity to wander and learn--he gladly did so.