Jorgel Rykuh

Overview
Jorgel Rykuh, the Blood Cultist, is a 22 year old half Dwarf, half Elf who dwells in Port Solanaria, Bardonia in Rathnir. He is the founder of Beetriaty, a cult-like religion around beetroots and cannibalism.

Appearance
Jorgel's most notable features are his vibrant blood-red coloured eyes and pointed elven ears. He has pale skin and short black hair and stands at 5'7/1.7 metres tall even with his dwarven heritage. He typically wears pale red robes and a darker red shirt and pants with a dark red cloak over his shoulders and covering his lower face. Jorgel's obsession with the colour red allegedly stemmed from his love of the taste of beetroots and blood.

As a child he reportedly had brown eyes, but around the age of 22 his eyes took on their new colour.

Personality
As a child Jorgel was peaceful and care-free, he had little to worry about as he spent most of his days farming and learning things with his father. In his adolescence he often helped out with small jobs in his local community: delivering drinks for parties and hauling building materials and crops. But his laid-back happy way of life was not permanent.

After the death (and what Jorgel believed to be the murder) of his father, his only family, Jorgel's view of the world grew bitter. Jorgel's grief would turn to rage and in the back of his mind he always had a lust for blood. But to those close to him he still showed compassion and he learned to control his thirst for vengeance and only unleashed it on those who wronged him.

Family
Jorgel's only known family was his alleged biological father, Hipps Rykuh. His mother is not known but Jorgel's genetics suggest she was an elf with black hair. Jorgel is unmarried and has no children.

Alone in the Depths
Hipps raised Jorgel for most of his younger years. He taught him the Tuberite way of life and frequently educated him on the history of Jorgel's town and nation. When Jorgel was older, Hipps took him to the town well for what Jorgel assumed was another history lesson. Jorgel was told to jump down and that Hipps would follow behind him, and he did as he was told though not completely sure why. He swam downwards in the well towards the light that shimmered at the bottom. That must be what Hipps was trying to show him. But the light from the torches in the caves below were blown out with what resembled a gust of wind and the caves were plummeted into darkness.

Taste of Blood
Jorgel threw himself out of the water into the complete darkness gasping for breath. He lay on his back soaking wet somewhere in Solanum's catacombs, and the dim red torches around him slowly glowed back to life. A rotten smell spread throughout the tunnels that Jorgel could not help but gag on as he got back to his feet. His blurred vision returned to normal, and he saw the hellhole he had fallen into. Chains hung from the ceiling and stains of blood painted the walls. He held back from throwing up at his grotesque surroundings until, amidst the stench, he smelt a pleasant smell, a smell he'd never known before. He instinctively followed the smell despite everything his surroundings told him, making his way down the stone corridors, as he did so fearing what on earth had happened in the catacombs. Eventually he found the room which the smell came from, the floor had puddles of blood, and most disturbingly, an almost fresh looking severed head staring straight at Jorgel. His heart froze for a moment, if it hadn't been for the entrancing scent he wouldn't have took a step closer, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He turned his eyes to a large cauldron, bubbling at the back of the room. A rich red mixture boiled away inside and a steam with an irresistible aroma was coming out. He approached the cauldron and dipped his hands inside it, scooping out the soup in his cupped hands.

Hesitantly, he sipped the mixture. It was nothing like he'd tasted before. He looked down at the pot and noted its ingredients; it contained beetroots, a vegetable forbidden in the town because of religious Tuberites who saw it as heretical and it also had a meaty and metallic taste to it. He could observe bones floating in the stew and he knew that he had likely just eaten a human, but did not care. The taste was too compelling to refuse.

Then as he drooled over the cauldron, a face floated to the top of the mixture, and Jorgel jerked backwards. Shaking, he watched as a humanoid figure crawled out of the cauldron...

He sprinted out of the room down the maze of tunnels in the catacombs screaming out for his father. Eventually he managed to find the exit to the well and frantically swam out and ran home dripping wet. A day later, his father was found dead in the catacombs.

Vengeful Descent
Jorgel stood on the white sand of Solanum's shores staring out to the night with the other townsfolk. The sky and sea were a deep black, and floating on the still surface of the water was a small ship blazing alight. It was a quiet night; the people watched silently with only the sound of the gentle waves and slow crackling of the fire heard throughout the town. But inside Jorgel's head, his grief and rage screamed loud as ever.

His father who taught him and raised him for 22 years now lay in a fiery coffin because of Jorgel's cowardice. Because Jorgel ran away on that night. But Jorgel had no time to keep blaming himself; he turned his rage on what he believed had killed his father with its own two hands, the creature in the catacombs. He made his mind up fast, rushed home after the funeral and took his shield and kukri. He took one last breath and plunged himself back into the town well.

He trod cautiously around the tunnels, prepared at each corner to face his target. He slowly made his way to the cauldron room, creaking open the large wooden door again. He watched the cauldron with his guard up, waiting for the figure to emerge, but nothing happened. Growing impatient, he walked up to the cauldron, raising his kukri and blindly stabbing down into the mixture but he didn't seem to hit anything. His frustration boiled and he grabbed onto the cauldron to tip it over to be sure it was void of the creature, he pulled hard but the cauldron and its contents were heavy. Eventually the cauldron gave way, but after all Jorgel's effort he lost his footing and he fell under the cauldron as all of the mixture inside spilled over him. He writhed and squirmed in the searing hot mixture, groaning with agony. It ran into his mouth and burned in his eyes and let out cries of pain. But Jorgel started to hear other cries of despair amongst his own; the screams of women and children blared in his ears. Then images flickered before his eyes, visions of the slaughtering of all kinds of people in what looked like his home town. Images too vivid to not be real.

He laid on his back covered in red, exhausted and confused beyond belief at what was happening. But something had flickered in the back of his mind as he sat up and looked at the severed head in the corner of the room with the words "help us" still echoing in his ears and the images of a massacre still burnt into his eyes.

Reborn in Blood
Jorgel swallowed back the mixture that had gotten into his mouth and closed his eyes. He sat still for a moment before his period of recovery was interrupted by a singular voice in his head which spoke to him.

"Through Blood and Beetroot, they can all be saved," it echoed.

Sight to Behold
Jorgel knew that the revelation he had had was not a result of some bad stew. No, everything he saw and heard was real, something out there was trying to talk to him. Something much bigger than he. But a guilt was eating at him from the inside; his father had always told him how cursed the beetroot was, and warned him that beetroot eating and worship had led to unspeakable tragedies in the past. As well as this, Jorgel could not comprehend what this greater being really wanted him to do.

He went atop the stone wall during the night and stared down at the still sea on the other side. In the centre of the sea was his father's ship, now charred and extinguished but still floating. A few odd sparks floated in the air around the ship, and the smoky smell was still tangible from the wall. Jorgel looked down at the ship and sighed, he shook his head and tried convincing himself that the visions were all meaningless, and that he should just do as he was told by his father. As he contemplated these thoughts, a quiet rumbling sound could be heard from below the water...

He flickered his eyes down at the water as the rumbling grew louder and louder and could be felt through the ground. He then looked all around him for an explanation but his eyes returned to the water, where the sound grew louder still. Dark clouds came quickly rolling in and the calm midnight blue sky turned a crimson red. Then his father's boat was capsized and a dark silhouette of something appeared to be visible beneath the water.

Emerging first were two arching horns and then a giant head, with bright red skin. The water crashed over the giant's body deafeningly as it emerged and it kept rising until everything above its waist had came out from under the water. All the light of the moon was eclipsed by its towering stature, its horns took up the whole horizon, and it turned its skull-like head downwards to look upon Jorgel. Jorgel froze as he stared into the two burning soulless red pupils in the giant's empty eye sockets, but when his gaze dropped to see its chest, ripped open with its ribs exposed and a giant heart the shape of a beetroot inside, Jorgel realised that this must some kind of god. He froze in a moment of realisation that everything was really happening... He dropped to his knees and raised his arms in the air in praise of the deity before him, and the deity let out an exhalation of acknowledgement through its open nose, stared at him for a few more moments, before it slowly submerged and descended far beneath the water again.

Jorgel turned around atop the wall to face the town, to see all the people who had witnessed the deity with him, but all he saw were the empty streets of the town at midnight. The great rumbling of the being rising out of the water had not waken a single soul.

Struggle for Silence
Jorgel named the deity Bthoro and in devotion to it, Jorgel spent the following weeks growing beetroots in the town in secret, beneath an abandoned house, in hopes that he could share them out and awaken a love for beetroots in the townsfolk. Of course, he still had to plan on what he would do if people rebuked the beetroot... the voice had told him that he would need both beetroot and blood to save everyone.

A couple weeks passed in which he would get up daily and sneak into the abandoned building to harvest the beetroots and would store them in the building's basement. One day he made this same journey early in the morning, the sun had not yet risen, and there was a freezing chill in the air despite it being late spring. The streets were eerily empty and he hurried as quietly as he could towards the building, but just as he made it half way across the street, a bird-like creature flew down upon him letting out a hissing breath sound. He quickly covered his head with his arms as the creature clung to him and bit at his face. After a moment of struggle he managed to get the creature off and rushed towards the door of the building, barging against it so it would open. But the door would not budge, and Jorgel saw that it had been barricaded with wooden planks. The bird was already descending towards him again, and he quickly rummaged for the sheath on his belt. It let out another hissing sound as it opened its mouth, revealing two rows of small razor sharp teeth, it flew closer and closer until Jorgel could see every detail in its eyes, it kept widening its mouth to bite down on his face. In the last moment Jorgel drew his kukri out from its sheath and slammed the blade into its neck, slicing its head clean off.

He wiped his blade clean of the bird's blood and turned to inspect the barricaded doors. It was most likely that another citizen had discovered his plantation and it wouldn't last much longer. He looked left and right to be sure no one was around before pulling hard on one of the planks, he tore off one of the wooden plank and entered the building, climbing down the ladder into the basement where he began rummaging through barrels of beetroots and seeds, filling his pockets with them before the town's authorities arrived to dispose of them. After gathering as many seeds and beetroots as he could, he snook back out of the building to his house where he buried the beetroots and seeds under his floorboards.

Sacrilegious Suspicions
The townsfolk should have had no reason to be suspicious of Jorgel if he hadn't been seen handling the beetroots. For a while he believed he would remain unsuspected, but one night as he lay in his bed, he would hear murmurings and chantings outside his front door. A group of 3 or 4 shouted abuse such as 'dwelf' (a slur used against half elf and half dwarves) and chanted 'burn the heretic'. Jorgel was shaken, believing it was only a matter of time before their knowledge spread. Surprisingly it didnt, but nevertheless, he decided to remain discrete for several weeks.

The abandoned house was set aflame by the tuberites. It remained charred across the street for some time, until two citizens decided to rebuild a tavern in its place. Jorgel had started to feel more secure after seeing that he wasn't seen with such suspicion, and news of the beetroots in the town had died down, so he began to plan his redistribution of the beetroots.

On the 9th an incident had occured in the town, following one of the local government falling ill due to 'beetroot exposure'. A local citizen had reported falling unconscious, but luckily recovering, after checking their mailbox where they received a concentrated dose of beetroot soup from an unidentified package. Townsfolk were warned to hand in suspicious packages to the local authorities.

Jorgel checked his mailbox and first found a letter. It read:

 'To the bastard son of the honourable late Mister Hipps Rykuh.

''Leave Solanum, there is nothing for you here. The only reason you are still in this town is because the Elder potatoes are a bunch of old crummy wheezers who only let you stay because your dad was Hipps. Be prepared for the wrath of the Sols, Jorgel Rykuh.''

Your friends can't help you.

- The Sols'

Jorgel was not familiar with this family, or their capabilities. He did however notice a package alongside the letter. He knew he would likely be able to handle a concentrated dose of beetroot, that was his regular diet, but he feared there was something more sinister inside. He notified the authorities so they could take the package away, and tried the best he could to prepare himself for 'the wrath of the Sols'.

Out for Blood
The package still stood outside, untouched, for days after. Each day Jorgel sat peering through the window, never taking his eyes off of it. The words of the letter still echoing themselves in his head; 'The wrath of the Sols'. He waited day after day, growing more and more impatient, but nobody came. After a week he decided it was time to act, taking his shield, and opening his front door again for the first time in some while.

The package remained still. He shook off his doubt, and went to pick up the package.

His hands froze right as he touched it.

'The wrath'...

A thought flickered in his mind, almost without reacting, he swung his shield in front of him, gritting his teeth. A blinding, burning light burst out the package, slamming against his shield, throwing his body across the street. His head bounced off the cobbles, and a stream of blood rushed from his nose. The stench of smoke and blood stung his nostrils. Blinking, his eyes open, he tried to focus on his blurred surroundings. He sat upwards, before pushing himself to his feet; he stared into the clearing smoke and the flames where the package had been. A small crater was present in the road, and the front door of Jorgel '' s house had been blown off, as well as some of the wooden beams being splintered. So that was their plan; a bomb. Jorgel snarled and spat the blood from his mouth as he made his way back into the smoke to observe the damage.

Cooking the Cure
After having recovered from his injuries and repairing the damage to his house, Jorgel had a plan. Not to deal with 'the Sols' but rather to 'inject' the tuberite population with their favourite heretical food. Jorgel's father had used to run a tavern, the first in the town, which sold vodka, whiskey and beer. Hipps had taught Jorgel the basics of brewery, so he was quite talented at it, even at a young age. Jorgel out of interest did some more research into the possibilities of brewery. He thought about contaminating the vodka with beetroots. The townsfolk loved vodka, which was a staple drink of the town, but there was so much of it that a new supply of beetroot vodka would take too long to properly circulate. Instead Jorgel decided to brew a more addictive substance that the citizens would use up rapidly, without question. A substance that they would crave so much, they would stop caring even if they knew there were beetroots in it.

After a long period of research and studying, he found such a substance. 'Ketamine'. If he could figure out the ingredients it would only be a matter of time until the whole town was hooked on beetroots without even knowing it.

He rebuilt the brewing station in the basement of his father's tavern and spent hours experimenting with the possible ingredients. Each time, after meticulously pouring in the chemicals, he would find himself left with a murky grey brew. All of the combinations he attempted were useless, so he would have to keep searching for the right formula.