Jordan Eliot Muse
Fighter and strategist. Superb tactician. Is known for his cunning, and his name is known in the streets of the cities.
Location: Apocalyptic world, with old weapons (swords) but no guns. There is technology though...just not much (no TV, phones, limited electricity).....there are monsters in the wild, starvation is an everyday problem, political unrest, streetfights, pub fights, etc.
Profile and Features
Age: 20
Gender: Male Height: 6'3" Manga: Bishie |
Background/Ethnicity: Unknown
Skin: Tanned Eyes: Grey and animated (turns darker when he's upset or excited) Hair: Black and shaggy (typical manga hair) Face: Clean-shaven and handsome/defined jawline Body: Lean and toned; defined muscles on arms, legs, and abdomen, sculpted chest Scars
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Personality
Jordan is pretty emotionless--after years of fighting in the streets, he doesn't like talking much any more. He has seen too much blood being shed, and his soul has been tainted by the company he was forced to keep. Cruel at times, he is ruthlessly practical and persistent. He will stand his ground no matter what the odds, and often faces extreme danger as a result. He sometimes comes off as haughty, and his tone is rarely respectful. He is more of a lone wolf--but when the occasion calls for it, he will rise up and lead his people.
Around his sister Rhema though, one sees a completely different side to him: his soft side. He genuinely cares for her, and does his best in order to ensure she will never face the pain he had to face himself. He laughs more readily, and he puts down his walls in order to play and interact with her. He is relentlessly teased by her, and sometimes it drives him crazy, but he still loves her--he interacts with her with annoyance at times, and other times with a deep brotherly love. He's the type who'd give a rose to Rhema, and she'd tease him about it. (their relationship is merely brother and sister--they might be closer than most, and share nearly all their secrets to each other, but there is no incest involved.)
He wasn't always quiet and sullen around people--it developed over time. When he was younger, he was always fiercely energetic and doggedly persistent. But as his experience grew, so did his sullen attitude---along with his rise to the top of the group. He's consistently second-in-command...that is...until Lewis died.
Jordan is more of the "behind the scene" sort of leader. He's also brilliant (he will deny it) and since he hates people, he stays in second-in-command so he can fight and not worry about politics (either with other gangs or within the gang itself). There was a circumstance when his best friend, Lewis, President of their slum section, dies after some horrific circumstances--and he is forced to take his place as president--but until then, he is always relatively in the shadows--feared, and mysterious.
He fights in order to stay on top--that's the only way he can truly protect his sister. It's not just people he has to look out for though--there are monsters and twisted creatures out in the Outside, thanks to the Apocalypse....And the only way one can leave a gang is if the gang breaks up...or in a body bag.
His weak point is mainly his sister Rhema. He can't keep track of her all the time, and thanks to her personality, she goes EVERYWHERE. He doesn't care for politics, so long as he and his sister stays alive and fed and clothed without her getting hurt. He has a deep protective streak. And overall...it's a battle for survival.
Jordan does have one-night stands.
Around his sister Rhema though, one sees a completely different side to him: his soft side. He genuinely cares for her, and does his best in order to ensure she will never face the pain he had to face himself. He laughs more readily, and he puts down his walls in order to play and interact with her. He is relentlessly teased by her, and sometimes it drives him crazy, but he still loves her--he interacts with her with annoyance at times, and other times with a deep brotherly love. He's the type who'd give a rose to Rhema, and she'd tease him about it. (their relationship is merely brother and sister--they might be closer than most, and share nearly all their secrets to each other, but there is no incest involved.)
He wasn't always quiet and sullen around people--it developed over time. When he was younger, he was always fiercely energetic and doggedly persistent. But as his experience grew, so did his sullen attitude---along with his rise to the top of the group. He's consistently second-in-command...that is...until Lewis died.
Jordan is more of the "behind the scene" sort of leader. He's also brilliant (he will deny it) and since he hates people, he stays in second-in-command so he can fight and not worry about politics (either with other gangs or within the gang itself). There was a circumstance when his best friend, Lewis, President of their slum section, dies after some horrific circumstances--and he is forced to take his place as president--but until then, he is always relatively in the shadows--feared, and mysterious.
He fights in order to stay on top--that's the only way he can truly protect his sister. It's not just people he has to look out for though--there are monsters and twisted creatures out in the Outside, thanks to the Apocalypse....And the only way one can leave a gang is if the gang breaks up...or in a body bag.
His weak point is mainly his sister Rhema. He can't keep track of her all the time, and thanks to her personality, she goes EVERYWHERE. He doesn't care for politics, so long as he and his sister stays alive and fed and clothed without her getting hurt. He has a deep protective streak. And overall...it's a battle for survival.
Jordan does have one-night stands.
Likes and Dislikes
Jordan likes
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Jordan dislikes
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Important Information
He wears a black hoodie at all times (preferably a zip-up one) with either nothing underneath, or a white wifebeater. Also only wears black jeans.
He has an eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow (stud), and multiple piercings in his ears (cartilage and lobe). He also has a lip piercing that he wears occasionally (ring). All from a result of gang initiations, or his own decisions or reminders.
Jordan carries little knives on his body, and has one broadsword that he stashes across his back. His sword has a dragon curled upon the pommel and has a well-forged 45-inch blade. He is ambidextrous and can use both hands with equal ease and skill, making him a deadly opponent.
He has an eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow (stud), and multiple piercings in his ears (cartilage and lobe). He also has a lip piercing that he wears occasionally (ring). All from a result of gang initiations, or his own decisions or reminders.
Jordan carries little knives on his body, and has one broadsword that he stashes across his back. His sword has a dragon curled upon the pommel and has a well-forged 45-inch blade. He is ambidextrous and can use both hands with equal ease and skill, making him a deadly opponent.
A Glimpse at Jordan
Glimpses at Jordan (AKA short stories!)
Night fell over the city almost imperceptibly here. It was almost never dark, even here, where clandestine generators or illegal power lines into the richer part of the city kept cheap neon and electric lights on, or even cheaper candles shed light for those who couldn't even afford that. Instead, night and day was measured by who owned the streets. During daylight it was, well, never particularly safe, not in this part of town, but safer. You could probably walk down the main streets alright, provided you kept your head down and didn't look like you might be carrying something valuable, and people attempted to buy, sell, or trade whatever little they had of value openly. But as night started falling, whatever little businesses there were packed up and locked up tight, not trusting to the tenuous protection of the gangs who'd bullied protection money out of them. As the slightly more honest businesses closed, the lawbreakers came out, and showed them who really ruled the streets here.
Jordan had never particularly enjoyed this kind of work, but he didn't have a lot of choice. The various criminal groups and street gangs held all the pull here. You could either work for them and take advantage of that small protection, or they'd all pounce on you, like piranhas on some hapless swimmer, and take everything, stripping you to the bone. Jordan had something too precious to take care of to allow himself to be devoured by this place.
However, he'd chosen this gang for a reason. The leader was an often absent figure, one who spent most of his time dealing with the bigger powerhouses. He showed up every so often to make sure things were running smoothly, and woe betide the gang if they weren't, but he left the smaller, day to day tasks and organizing to his second in command. This particular second in command had weaseled his way into the slot by cunning. It was an open secret that he'd framed the previous one, making him look like he was plotting against the boss, and taken the position from him. He enjoyed the power, but not the responsibility, and preferred to rely on his underlings to do all his heavy lifting.
And the other reason Jordan had chosen this gang was because the initiation method was simple. Win a place by force. A few weeks ago, Jordan had been the one to do that. After several days of observing, he'd picked his most likely target, one of the gang's big enforcers. Jordan knew that his lean build tended to make people underestimate him, and that he could make a name for himself immediately by taking out one of the men who seemed to be the biggest threat. After a few days of observation, he'd determined that the man was a heavy hitter, but clumsy and unskilled, relying on his strength to win his fights. Once Jordan was sure he had his strategy, down, he had walked in, and challenged the man for his position, using speed and skill to run rings around him. They'd all been suitably impressed when he floored a fighter twice his size, and welcomed him in. The second-in-command, working as their de facto leader, had been particularly impressed. Jordan had made sure to act competent, but unquestioning, and as he'd hoped, the man had assumed Jordan was a loyal underling and began granting him more responsibility, carrying out tasks that he should have been working on, were he not so lazy.
Once Jordan had established himself there, and started taking on the responsibilities their leader should have been taking, he'd begun work on the second part of his plan. He'd gotten to know the other gang members; who he could trust, who would stab him in the back, who was dissatisfied with the way things were, who he could win over with a little work. When he read between the lines, he could tell from their conversation that most of them thought their current leader was taking more than his fair share of their profits, cheating them and their actual boss alike out of what should have been theirs. But they were too afraid to confront him about it. The last person who'd been too vocal about it had vanished, and their leader made sure that he was the only person who ever spoke directly to the boss, saying that only he, as second in command, was important enough. Jordan knew for a fact that he was skimming their take, since he was the one who counted what they brought in every night in the man's place, and handed back a greatly reduced portion to each member that he claimed was their fair share.
All of it was exactly the sort of opportunity Jordan had been counting on. Food was scarce around here, and stiffing your gang of what they'd earned, what might be the difference for them between getting by and starving... That wasn't the sort of thing that made a leader popular. Cheating their boss was eventually going to catch up with him sooner or later, but Jordan had decided to make it sooner, and take advantage of the situation that had presented itself.
Jordan had been quietly watching him, gathering ammunition, and waiting for his chance. And tonight was it. The gang was gathered tonight, inside their hideout for a rare address from the boss, with their second in command standing by looking smug. Jordan listened quietly, checking the locations of all his hidden knives, until he was done talking, and then stepped forward.
“I have something I'd like to say,” he announced, his voice carrying in the sudden silence.
“Muse, what do you think you're doing? You're out of order, a lackey like you doesn't talk to the boss!” his second snapped, moving forward to shove Jordan back.
“Let's hear what he has to say.” Although their boss' tone was calm, it carried a certain aura of menace, and it managed to shut his second up so that Jordan could speak again.
“How about we talk about the only thing anyone here really cares about?” Jordan bit out harshly. “You've been holding out on everyone here. You take all the best for yourself and barely give anything back to the people who earned it.” Jordan turned to their boss, who had been watching with a coldly impassive expression. “He's been cheating us, and he's been cheating you. He doesn't even hand in half of what we make without keeping for himself.” That finally seemed to jolt the second into action, and he drew himself up, sneering at Jordan.
“And who are you to make claims like that?” he snarled. “A brat like you, who I let join up because I felt sorry for you? You're the one who's been stealing and now you're trying to pin it on me!” But Jordan could see that despite his insults, the man was glancing around the other members of the gang as he talked, and he could hear the quiet murmur of agreement with what Jordan had said. He'd clearly been planning to order the rest of his gang to apprehend Jordan, but, as Jordan had planned, they were doubtful enough that it wasn't certain whether they'd obey the order. If he wanted to get control back, he'd have to do something drastic, and fast. “Alright then, punk, if you think you can run this gang better than I do, you can fight me for it!”
Jordan took a step back as his opponent brandished a knife with a wickedly serrated blade at him. One small movement was all it took for him to free the two smaller knives, for his preferred two-handed fighting style, from their hidden wrist sheaths. Now wasn't the time to be careless. Although the man was greedy and lazy, he'd had to fight his way to the top too, and he'd kept his position there with cunning. The two of them circled each other, searching for a weakness in their opponent.
It was Jordan who struck first, lunging forward to test his guard with a flurry of lightning fast slashes. His former leader had seen that he wielded two knives, but had mistakenly assumed that one was mostly for show, and that Jordan would focus on attacking his dominant hand. He hadn't planned on his opponent being ambidextrous, and Jordan drew first blood, a long slash down his arm, with his left hand while he was concentrating on Jordan's right.
And yet, Jordan could see the calculation going on behind the man's eyes. He wouldn't surprise him with that again.
“What kind of man betrays their own benefactor?” he called tauntingly, circling Jordan again with a new found wariness, searching for a weakness. Jordan was forced to keep moving too, to keep the man from getting behind his back. “I took you in, trusted you, gave you work, and this is how you repay me? By stabbing me in the back? What makes you think any of them are going to follow a traitor like you?” Jordan smirked to himself. The man was clearly trying to sway the others back to his side. Jordan had kept quiet while serving under him, and apparently that had left him under the impression that he was stupid.
“Some benefactor,” he replied, “stealing from the people you pretended to look out for.” Almost before the sentence had left his mouth, he was moving again, catching his opponent off guard. He slashed high with his right hand, forcing the man to parry, and then moved in low with his left. The trick didn't work as well the second time, leaving only a glancing blow across the man's hip when he turned aside at the last moment, but it still left him bleeding. And then they were at each other, exchanging blow after blow, dodging, blocking, and doing their level best to tear each other apart. There was no more cautious circling, or breath wasted exchanging verbal jabs. Jordan's full attention was on his opponent, watching tensed and alert for every small movement that might signal his next action, constantly seeking an opening and a way to decisively end the fight. At such close quarters, even he couldn't dodge or block every blow, and soon he too was bleeding from a number of cuts. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel his pulse in every bleeding wound. He wasn't in danger of bleeding out, not yet, but they would slow him down. Better to end this sooner than later.
Ducking back, he let himself seem to stumble a little, enough to make his opponent think that he was weaker and more tired than he really was. The man took his bait, lunging at him with a cry of triumph, blade outstretched to stab him in the heart. Jordan had to time himself closely, too closely, as the knife left a bleeding gash across his chest that he knew without a doubt was going to leave an ugly scar. But he didn't feel the pain, not with his adrenaline high and all his focus on the fight. All he cared about was that his opponent's lunge and wild attack had left him wide open, unbalanced and overextended. It was all too easy for Jordan to duck in, under his reach and past his guard, and drive both knives home.
The man's eye's went wide, startled, and his mouth moved as though to gasp or say some last word that he never quite managed. Jordan shoved him away, and he was dead before he hit the floor. Jordan didn't look at the body as he cleaned the blood off his knives dispassionately. The man would have done the same to him, and Jordan had just gotten there first.
Around him the other gang members, his new gang members, finally started to react as the shock of the fight's sudden and vicious end started to fade. Their boss snapped out a series of orders that Jordan barely heard. One of them dragged a chair out for Jordan, while the boss sent a pair of others off for medical supplies. Several more took care of their former leader's body, dragging it outside. They'd probably dump it somewhere where no questions would be asked. After all, what was another body in this part of town?
Jordan sat silently as he let the buzz of voices and movement go on around him without really listening. His adrenaline had worn off, and the various cuts he'd sustained were beginning to make themselves known. The deepest one across his chest, which he absently pressed a hand to to slow the bleeding, hurt the most and would probably need stitches. He became aware of another presence standing beside him, their boss, looking down at Jordan with a hint of approval in his impassive expression.
“Well,” he said finally. “I suppose I have a new second-in-command.” Jordan nodded, too tired to speak. Power and strength were what mattered here, what he needed to do the most important thing to him: keep Rhema safe. He had just let everyone here know that he had both, and he didn't intend to let anyone take them away from him.
~Mirrorstone
Jordan had never particularly enjoyed this kind of work, but he didn't have a lot of choice. The various criminal groups and street gangs held all the pull here. You could either work for them and take advantage of that small protection, or they'd all pounce on you, like piranhas on some hapless swimmer, and take everything, stripping you to the bone. Jordan had something too precious to take care of to allow himself to be devoured by this place.
However, he'd chosen this gang for a reason. The leader was an often absent figure, one who spent most of his time dealing with the bigger powerhouses. He showed up every so often to make sure things were running smoothly, and woe betide the gang if they weren't, but he left the smaller, day to day tasks and organizing to his second in command. This particular second in command had weaseled his way into the slot by cunning. It was an open secret that he'd framed the previous one, making him look like he was plotting against the boss, and taken the position from him. He enjoyed the power, but not the responsibility, and preferred to rely on his underlings to do all his heavy lifting.
And the other reason Jordan had chosen this gang was because the initiation method was simple. Win a place by force. A few weeks ago, Jordan had been the one to do that. After several days of observing, he'd picked his most likely target, one of the gang's big enforcers. Jordan knew that his lean build tended to make people underestimate him, and that he could make a name for himself immediately by taking out one of the men who seemed to be the biggest threat. After a few days of observation, he'd determined that the man was a heavy hitter, but clumsy and unskilled, relying on his strength to win his fights. Once Jordan was sure he had his strategy, down, he had walked in, and challenged the man for his position, using speed and skill to run rings around him. They'd all been suitably impressed when he floored a fighter twice his size, and welcomed him in. The second-in-command, working as their de facto leader, had been particularly impressed. Jordan had made sure to act competent, but unquestioning, and as he'd hoped, the man had assumed Jordan was a loyal underling and began granting him more responsibility, carrying out tasks that he should have been working on, were he not so lazy.
Once Jordan had established himself there, and started taking on the responsibilities their leader should have been taking, he'd begun work on the second part of his plan. He'd gotten to know the other gang members; who he could trust, who would stab him in the back, who was dissatisfied with the way things were, who he could win over with a little work. When he read between the lines, he could tell from their conversation that most of them thought their current leader was taking more than his fair share of their profits, cheating them and their actual boss alike out of what should have been theirs. But they were too afraid to confront him about it. The last person who'd been too vocal about it had vanished, and their leader made sure that he was the only person who ever spoke directly to the boss, saying that only he, as second in command, was important enough. Jordan knew for a fact that he was skimming their take, since he was the one who counted what they brought in every night in the man's place, and handed back a greatly reduced portion to each member that he claimed was their fair share.
All of it was exactly the sort of opportunity Jordan had been counting on. Food was scarce around here, and stiffing your gang of what they'd earned, what might be the difference for them between getting by and starving... That wasn't the sort of thing that made a leader popular. Cheating their boss was eventually going to catch up with him sooner or later, but Jordan had decided to make it sooner, and take advantage of the situation that had presented itself.
Jordan had been quietly watching him, gathering ammunition, and waiting for his chance. And tonight was it. The gang was gathered tonight, inside their hideout for a rare address from the boss, with their second in command standing by looking smug. Jordan listened quietly, checking the locations of all his hidden knives, until he was done talking, and then stepped forward.
“I have something I'd like to say,” he announced, his voice carrying in the sudden silence.
“Muse, what do you think you're doing? You're out of order, a lackey like you doesn't talk to the boss!” his second snapped, moving forward to shove Jordan back.
“Let's hear what he has to say.” Although their boss' tone was calm, it carried a certain aura of menace, and it managed to shut his second up so that Jordan could speak again.
“How about we talk about the only thing anyone here really cares about?” Jordan bit out harshly. “You've been holding out on everyone here. You take all the best for yourself and barely give anything back to the people who earned it.” Jordan turned to their boss, who had been watching with a coldly impassive expression. “He's been cheating us, and he's been cheating you. He doesn't even hand in half of what we make without keeping for himself.” That finally seemed to jolt the second into action, and he drew himself up, sneering at Jordan.
“And who are you to make claims like that?” he snarled. “A brat like you, who I let join up because I felt sorry for you? You're the one who's been stealing and now you're trying to pin it on me!” But Jordan could see that despite his insults, the man was glancing around the other members of the gang as he talked, and he could hear the quiet murmur of agreement with what Jordan had said. He'd clearly been planning to order the rest of his gang to apprehend Jordan, but, as Jordan had planned, they were doubtful enough that it wasn't certain whether they'd obey the order. If he wanted to get control back, he'd have to do something drastic, and fast. “Alright then, punk, if you think you can run this gang better than I do, you can fight me for it!”
Jordan took a step back as his opponent brandished a knife with a wickedly serrated blade at him. One small movement was all it took for him to free the two smaller knives, for his preferred two-handed fighting style, from their hidden wrist sheaths. Now wasn't the time to be careless. Although the man was greedy and lazy, he'd had to fight his way to the top too, and he'd kept his position there with cunning. The two of them circled each other, searching for a weakness in their opponent.
It was Jordan who struck first, lunging forward to test his guard with a flurry of lightning fast slashes. His former leader had seen that he wielded two knives, but had mistakenly assumed that one was mostly for show, and that Jordan would focus on attacking his dominant hand. He hadn't planned on his opponent being ambidextrous, and Jordan drew first blood, a long slash down his arm, with his left hand while he was concentrating on Jordan's right.
And yet, Jordan could see the calculation going on behind the man's eyes. He wouldn't surprise him with that again.
“What kind of man betrays their own benefactor?” he called tauntingly, circling Jordan again with a new found wariness, searching for a weakness. Jordan was forced to keep moving too, to keep the man from getting behind his back. “I took you in, trusted you, gave you work, and this is how you repay me? By stabbing me in the back? What makes you think any of them are going to follow a traitor like you?” Jordan smirked to himself. The man was clearly trying to sway the others back to his side. Jordan had kept quiet while serving under him, and apparently that had left him under the impression that he was stupid.
“Some benefactor,” he replied, “stealing from the people you pretended to look out for.” Almost before the sentence had left his mouth, he was moving again, catching his opponent off guard. He slashed high with his right hand, forcing the man to parry, and then moved in low with his left. The trick didn't work as well the second time, leaving only a glancing blow across the man's hip when he turned aside at the last moment, but it still left him bleeding. And then they were at each other, exchanging blow after blow, dodging, blocking, and doing their level best to tear each other apart. There was no more cautious circling, or breath wasted exchanging verbal jabs. Jordan's full attention was on his opponent, watching tensed and alert for every small movement that might signal his next action, constantly seeking an opening and a way to decisively end the fight. At such close quarters, even he couldn't dodge or block every blow, and soon he too was bleeding from a number of cuts. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel his pulse in every bleeding wound. He wasn't in danger of bleeding out, not yet, but they would slow him down. Better to end this sooner than later.
Ducking back, he let himself seem to stumble a little, enough to make his opponent think that he was weaker and more tired than he really was. The man took his bait, lunging at him with a cry of triumph, blade outstretched to stab him in the heart. Jordan had to time himself closely, too closely, as the knife left a bleeding gash across his chest that he knew without a doubt was going to leave an ugly scar. But he didn't feel the pain, not with his adrenaline high and all his focus on the fight. All he cared about was that his opponent's lunge and wild attack had left him wide open, unbalanced and overextended. It was all too easy for Jordan to duck in, under his reach and past his guard, and drive both knives home.
The man's eye's went wide, startled, and his mouth moved as though to gasp or say some last word that he never quite managed. Jordan shoved him away, and he was dead before he hit the floor. Jordan didn't look at the body as he cleaned the blood off his knives dispassionately. The man would have done the same to him, and Jordan had just gotten there first.
Around him the other gang members, his new gang members, finally started to react as the shock of the fight's sudden and vicious end started to fade. Their boss snapped out a series of orders that Jordan barely heard. One of them dragged a chair out for Jordan, while the boss sent a pair of others off for medical supplies. Several more took care of their former leader's body, dragging it outside. They'd probably dump it somewhere where no questions would be asked. After all, what was another body in this part of town?
Jordan sat silently as he let the buzz of voices and movement go on around him without really listening. His adrenaline had worn off, and the various cuts he'd sustained were beginning to make themselves known. The deepest one across his chest, which he absently pressed a hand to to slow the bleeding, hurt the most and would probably need stitches. He became aware of another presence standing beside him, their boss, looking down at Jordan with a hint of approval in his impassive expression.
“Well,” he said finally. “I suppose I have a new second-in-command.” Jordan nodded, too tired to speak. Power and strength were what mattered here, what he needed to do the most important thing to him: keep Rhema safe. He had just let everyone here know that he had both, and he didn't intend to let anyone take them away from him.
~Mirrorstone