User:Bado/Bado

Bado
Sanctuary
World:	Laurelin
Vocation:	Armsman
Class:	Burglar
Race:	Hobbit
Region:	Stoor
Age:	42
Height:	3ft 4in
Sex:	Male
Skin:	Swarthy
Hair:	Black, short
Eye:	Blue grey

Description

Physical Description:

A somewhat tall for a hobbit, Stoor going by his swarthy complexion and West Farthing accent.
His muscular arms and spatter marked clothes identify him as a smith of some sort. The quality of the crafted weapons he carries would suggest a weaponsmith.
Bado's thick black hair is starting to grey with age and is more than often on display as he rarely wears a hat or helmet, perhaps only on special occasions.
Like all good Hobbits Bado never wears shoes, finding them an encumbrance and unsightly.

Personality Description:
Typically a quiet and modest hobbit who tends to keep himself to himself. The only time Bado lets his hair down is when he has had an ale or two and then there is no stopping him.
He enjoys eating and drinking, especially the later. This means the frequency of the hair being let down is often.
Bado's shy nature means that he finds making friends hard but when he does make friends they are the kind that last forever.
Generally of good spirit and cheer he is rarely upset except when confronted by brigands. His hatred for these people runs very deep, becoming almost possessed when confronted by them.

Residence

Currently residing at 2 Myrtle Court, Sheafton, South Farthing, The Shire.

Trade

Vocation

Armsman

Professions

GM Weaponsmith, GM Prospector, Teir 2 Woodworker

Kinship

Bado is an member of Sanctuary

Friends:

• All of my extended family at Sanctuary

• Harding - best friend and fellow bat-hobbit. Harding has split Bado's side on many occasions with his keen sense of humour and happy go lucky attitude.

• Kwarin - a surprising friendship considering Bado finds most Dwarves somewhat brash and impolite. Kwarin is a diamond amongst the rough, ever helpful and always in good cheer.

Enemies:

• Brigands -(see Bio)

Bio

Gorbadoc ‘Bado’ Jackley.
As a youngster Bado was a pretty happy go lucky kind of Hobbit, often to be found wandering the woods pretending he was on an adventure. The amount of bruises his mother, had nursed was beyond count, most of them self inflicted and most as a result of his overzealous pretend sword play. It was not often as a child that you would see Bado without a large stick tucked into his belt, slung like a sword.
He grew up in the West Farthing with his mother, Alybrylla and father, Perurry, helping out at the family smithy as soon as he was strong enough to lift a hammer.
His farther a well respected Hobbit and excellent smith, was a hard task master, his enthusiasm for his craft and desire to pass on his skills often overshadowed his parental duties, treating his son as an apprentice first and son second. Bado’s mother was the complete opposite, perhaps in compensation for her husband’s failings. She doted on her son, feeding him as often as she could and constantly worrying about his whereabouts.

Bado’s childhood while not affluent was almost idyllic, on the occasions he managed to sneak away from the forge, which was remarkably often, Bado liked nothing more than scouring the woods for conies and seeing how close he could get to them before they up tailed and run.
This he did for many years, adventuring further and further afield as he grew up. He always got a scolding from his father for leaving the forge unattended, this, as always, was softened by his mother coming to his room, having being sent there with no tea, with a bowl of her famous apple and toffee crumble. In fact it was inability to stay where he was supposed to and his uncanny skill for getting himself in trouble that earned him his nick name ‘Bado’.

A small accident at the family forge, which of course was entirely due to Bado's fondeness for wandering off, caused his parents to make the harsh decision of sending him away to live with his uncle.

The move to Newbury and to be with his uncle was hard to begin with. His home comforts gone and his uncles cooking to contend with, soon had Bado longing for home. It was however the fantastical stories his uncle would tell him over an ale or two at the Golden Perch, a favourite watering hole of his uncle’s, that kept him from running straight back home.

Several years past and Bado’s life began to change under the influence of his uncle. They often travelled to Bree and thought nothing of have dealings with the long shanks in Bree town. Something Bado’s father had always avoided if at all possible.
His uncle Rem was an accomplish Bard and was often asked to tell a tale or sing a song at almost every tavern they stopped at. It was enough to keep them in food and drink and Bado too was able to bring a few coins in with some occasional smith work as long as it didn’t interfere with the serious business of enjoying life.

In fact it was on one of these trips that Bado met or was at least introduced to a friend of Rem’s who had a dramatic impact on Bado’s life. Deonyc was a Breelander born and breed and also happened to be one of the finest weaponsmiths in Bree. Rem had told Deonyc of Bado’s skill with the hammer and had asked if he wanted to give him a tryout as an apprentice. While the motive for this may have been to raise more drinking funds rather than the betterment of Bado’s craft, the end result was of benefit to all. Bado learned quickly and the years of practice soon saw him making swords of equal measure to his mentors.

Talk of wolves and other fell creatures had been spreading through the Shire of late and his uncle had warned that travelling alone unarmed would not be such a wise thing in these times. He took his uncle’s pony and began the journey to Bree.

The morning was clear and bright and the start of the journey went quickly and Bado was able to make good time. As the day drew on the weather started to get worse, as dark rain clouds soon covered the once blue sky. The rain soaked quickly through Bado’s thin cloak and he started to shiver with the cold. The rest of the journey seemed to take an age and on reaching Bree finally, Bado steered straight for Deonyc’s workshop to see what news he had. It was ill news of the worst kind; it appeared that his uncle had left Bree, much as he always did after a few days working, to travel home. It was while travelling home in the evening two days before that his uncle had apparently been accosted by a band of brigands who despite his uncles pleading had run him through for the few coppers that he had on him.

Bado shook with rage at the news, then broke down and wept. It wasn’t until the second brandy, Deonyc had given Bado had been drunk, that he stopped trembling and wiping the tears from his eyes vowed that he would get his revenge for his uncle.

Deonyc pleaded with Bado not to go and to leave it to the local militia to sort out, but Bado was determined and during the night snuck out from his room at Deonyc’s house. He had learnt of the whereabouts of the brigand’s camp in the recounting of the incident and headed straight to their camp.

The night was dark and the clouds covered the moon, as Bado drew near he could see the brigands by the light of their campfires. He had remembered his day catching the conies and sneaked more slowly than he had ever done toward a pair that stood by their campfire warming their hands. As he drew near he could hear the laughing and talking coarsely about their deeds of that day. Bado could feel the blood pumping in his head as his heart raced ten to the dozen. He drew his daggers silently from their scabbards and crept to a position at the back of one of the brigands. Bado knew that from this position he could get a strike in behind the first brigand without the second seeing him.

He shook with fear, these where men near twice the size of him and would be a lot harder to kill than a coney. He took a last breath and gritted his teeth. His first strike saw both his daggers pierce the almost unprotected back of the brigand and sink hilt deep. The brigand fell without even making a sound, only the weight of his own body pulling free Bado’s daggers. The second brigand was so stunned that by the time he had drawn his sword Bado had struck plunging one dagger under his ribs. As the brigand swung his sword Bado ducked under the blade to plant his second dagger deep into the brigand’s side. The second brigand fell dead at his feet and for an instant the night was silent save the crackling of the fire.

Bado stood frozen to the spot not daring to move or make a sound. He suddenly realised he had not breathed since the attack began and gasped for breath. Not knowing why Bado started searching the bodies. He removed his daggers and quickly looked around to see if he could find anything linking the brigands to the death of his uncle. He did not have to search far.

Around the neck of the first brigand on a chain, he found a small Hobbit sized ring, one that he instantly recognised as a gift that his mother had given her brother, his uncle Rem for his 40th birthday some while ago. Bado snatched the ring from his neck and ran as fast as he could back to where his pony was tied. On his return to Bree Bado showed Deonyc the ring and recounted the story. Deonyc told Bado that it was best not to talk of such things in unfamiliar company as the brigands could have spies in Bree.

From that day forth Bado’s dislike for brigands has only grown as news of their deeds filters back to his homestead.
Bado could not face to live in his uncle’s house and whether through shame or just through the risk of putting his family in danger could not move home either.
It was at this time Bado started to travel more wishing to see more of middle earth or to just get away from the memories that still haunted him about his uncle’s death.

Gossip

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