Jawru the HellspawnAspiring Swordsman and EntertainerTiefling (Grimspawn) Wizard (Spellslinger)Appearance
Jawru is something to look at, to be certain. With a tail that he seems to swish around at his leisure and a pair of wings which flap to no real effect, he looks more at home on some other plane than on the material. He dressed outlandishly, torn between an armored appearance of black dyed studded leather and a dancer's garb of blacks and reds which accentuate his demonic heritage rather than hide it. He bills himself as exotic rather than use the slew of other words which are generally used to describe him, few of which are flattering. The body bears the scars, as does the face, of a number of fights from his younger years before he properly learned how to defend himself, and one of them mangled his eye. It retains full functionality but is rather a put-off to his clientele and so it generally remains covered by a fashionable eye patch or similar obscuring device. He takes almost meticulous care of his clothing and weapon, as well as tending to his horse almost as if it were more than simply a beast of burden. He'd like to think of himself as handsome, but knows that right was taken from him long ago.Personality
An everlasting optimist is Jawru. In the face of overwhelming adversity, he was beaten down and built himself back up from rubble. To that end, he seeks to defend the weak, uphold the public good, and... okay, almost got through that without laughing. In all honesty, he is actually a fairly bright individual, when in public. He puts on a good show of playing nice for all the primes and their authorities, but deep down his darker nature fights his nobler self and wins so often as it loses. He doesn't go around murdering innocents or pillaging the virtue of maidens he crosses, but he's been known to take things a bit too far and cause trouble solely for the sake of self-enjoyment. During his performances, his face is all smiles and wicked grins, the sin that cannot be indulged and the boy that mother not only warned you about, she forbade entirely. Therein lies his appeal, the forbidden fruit of a rotten tree. Girls love a bad boy. For all Jawru knows, he has a half-dozen offspring in villages sizable enough to gain his notice and wealthy enough to keep him interested. Much like his father before him, Jawru is not nearly about to stick around to find himself a father to a bundle of hellish joy.Background
Jawru's mother conceived him in a night of wild passion. The daemon which seduced her had little enough trouble, she was a weakling to begin with. Her husband was away fighting some ludicrous battle and had left her alone, so what right had he to complain when he came home to a pregnant spouse? The line was drawn when she birthed Jawru, however. The beating his mother received once her labor had passed and she had rested rivaled any she was to receive for the next several years. Jawru was too tiny then to do anything, so the beatings continued. Meanwhile at school, the other children teased him about his wings and tail, useless as they were. They threw stones at him, kicked him, and struck him with wooden play swords. For a time, this continued, until one day there was simply enough. The sword struck Jawru's face with enough force that the eye was bloodied, hanging from its socket. Clutching his face, the Tiefling screamed for help that did not come. The priest even passed by, decrying this as a just act for such a foul spawn of evil. He didn't understand. He'd never done anything even remotely evil. Perhaps that was what he should do, then, to balance the scales. Scales. Like he had growing on him now. The next day, he took with him to school a knife. They never saw it as he used his tail to draw it and place it in his hands during the morning prayer, and then as he proceeded to bury it in the spine of the boy who had taken his eye, his nature came and sucked the boy's very life from his body. The priest came, to take the child and burn him, but the boy was not a demon. Prayers did not save the priest. He set fire to the schoolhouse, and he set fire to the church, and he left the town and did not return. When he reached home, he found that his father had finally gone the last inch and beaten his mother completely to death. He didn't care. That life was behind him now, he just needed his regular shoes and his regular clothes. The ones he wore to school wouldn't do for the life he was taking on now.
Jawru learned quickly in the streets of any major city he could find. He learned how to entertain the masses by dancing, how to dodge the blows of those who thought he didn't deserve to breathe much less eat, and most importantly how to leave his own marks upon others rather than have them leaving theirs upon him. He took a job as a smith's apprentice, in the bellows where many could not handle the heat he seemed to relish it, basking in the warmth and handling fresh steel as if it were cool to the touch. He trained with the sword, and trained in mind and body as well. It was a slow process, but in time he even found a larger hint of that magical ability he'd experienced that day at the school. He learned a number of useful tricks which he transcribed into a book, and a number of skills which quite frankly saved his life a few times, though they left their taint upon him. That was fine, he was tainted to the core anyway, right? Except that he wasn't. He wasn't irredeemable, nor was he 'evil' at his heart. Everyone did evil, except those purest of souls who walk the holy path and are so pure that those of his prurient nature could not so much as look at them without feeling disgusted with themselves. It was on the streets that Jawru first sold himself for money. Not a dance, not a show, not even a fight which he occasionally got into for a week's bread, but actually sold himself as company. The woman was ugly, but he hadn't eaten and when you were starving you can do most anything to get a meal in your stomach.
It disgusted him, and generally set the tone for his future with women as he'd eternally seek to be the purveyor of that feeling rather than the recipient. He would seek to conquer women who would be actively disgusted by him when they saw what he was truly like, when the clothes stopped hiding the wings and tail. He was charming enough and had the appearance of an adventurer by this point, not to mention money earned from being a sell-sword, and could find himself companionship in most places. After they'd accepted the coin, it was just like his first night. Bargains must be kept, and no amount of weeping will change his mind. That isn't to say Jawru is an uncaring, selfish, or abusive lover, quite the contrary, he's merely an insistent one when he's already paid for it. These days he makes a living, if it can be called that, selling his sword and a turn on the tavern floor at dance or the dance of death. With his trusty steed, who has the good sense to still be a little spooked by his presence, he makes his way down paths and trails, even across seas, eking out a living where he can find it, and searching for something truly worthwhile.