Johan Rodharete

Johan Rodharete was born to Gustav and Tara Rodharete on a small farm near Center on Apreal 2, 1542. He was raised on the Rodharete Farm all his life. His father taught him the ways of the farmer. He was a good teacher: patient, kind, but stern. A bit grim, really. Johan rarely saw his father smile, but then again, the life of a farmer was fraught with hardship. A farmer’s wife was equally difficult, yet Johan’s mother was always a wellspring of joy for the family. Somehow, no matter how hard she had toiled that day, Tara was ever the optimist. Even without a word, her smile could brighten a room. “We must do what we can for others, whatever our burden might be,” she often reminded Johan. It is a creed that he has adopted as his own.

Johan was the only surviving Rodharete child; two brothers and a sister had died in infancy before he was born. His parents never informed him of this.

Johan’s paternal grandfather, Olaf Rodharete, was a cleric of Toran who died in service of his god. He had passed on to his son his reverence for Toran, who in turn passed on that reverence to Johan. Though like many he pays appropriate homage to many gods depending on his needs, Johan holds Toran above all others as the preeminent god.

Johan was always curious growing up. He enjoyed the usual juvenile endeavors of traipsing through the woods and practicing archery with makeshift bows, sure, but he was far more drawn to Center. Center seemed to be a hub of activity, a magnet that attracted the most interesting and exotic people Johan had ever seen. He used to make up stories for them as he watched them pass, imagining them as heroes from distant Alibor or far-off Krashin. Soon, though, he mustered the courage to go talk to them. Though he could piece together only a little of the outside world from these interactions, it did teach him a lot about how to interact with people. It was his favorite passtime by far.

Life as a farmer, however, is short on free time to enjoy, even for a child. Johan worked on the farm day in and day out, side by side with his father. He hated the work. The physical challenge wasn’t the issue; he had always been a large-framed boy and thrived under such a strenuous regimen. No, he just found it all so boring. Once, when he was twelve, he told his father as much. His father responded, “I hate it, too, son. But above all else, a man does what he must to look out for his people. For me, that’s your mom and you. I do this to take care of you two, even if I don’t like it. That’s what you must do when you’re a man yourself.” Johan simply nodded. They didn’t speak of it ever again, but somehow that lesson stuck with him all the same.

On his eighteenth birthday, Johan couldn’t fathom toiling away another day in the fields. That very day, he sat down with his parents and told them that he wished to leave the farm and set out on his own as an adventurer. He braced himself, even as the words left his lips, for a scolding and a lecture and a downpour of disappointment the likes of which he had never seen. Instead, after exchanging a knowing look, his parents smiled at him warmly. A tear rolled down his mother’s cheek. His father spoke up, “You’ve got my father’s blood in you, my boy, that’s for sure.” The next morning, they equipped him with his grandfather’s adventuring gear, including the family longbow. He then set out, in high spirits and with a confident stride, toward Center to meet whatever adventure he could find.

Johan has a height of 6 foot 5 inches and weighs 250 pounds. He is 18 years old and sports shoulder-length fiery red hair paired with a thick red beard. He has green eyes.