Jorgel Rykuh

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

Appearance
Jorgel's most notable features were his vibrant blood-red coloured eyes and pointed elven ears. He had pale skin and short black hair and stood at 5'7/1.7 metres tall even with his dwarven heritage. He typically wore 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 was unmarried and has no children.

Alone in the Depths
Hipps raised Jorgel for most of his younger years. As a faithful Tuberite himself, Hipps, taught him the Tuberite way of life and frequently educated him on the history of Jorgel's town and nation since he was a young boy.

"Without potatoes, none of us would be here today, Jorgel." Hipps said. "They are the very thing which gave our ancestors life, and keep us, and this whole town alive to this very day."

"What about carrots?" asked a young Jorgel.

"Carrots, my son, are not the salvation that the Masetzu'ans found on their way to our homeland."

"Oh... so only potatoes? Not melons or pumpkins or... or beetroots?"

"BEET-!?" Hipps stopped himself before he could finish the word. "We do not speak of those CURSED red vegetables, not in this town and certainly not in this house. Do you understand me Jorgel?"

"Why can't we say beetro-" began Jorgel.

"THEY ARE CURSED! If you keep going on about beetroots you will doom us all, do you hear me?!" Hipps paused and sighed," Its best not to tell you why Jorgel. But you must always remember that beetroots are a crop of pure evil, their mere presence alone can and has brought about tragedies too horrific to speak of. Whatever you do, Jorgel, never worship the beetroot."

Each day, Hipps would teach Jorgel more and more, and when Jorgel was older one day, 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 tried to distinguish its ingredients. There were floating red vegetables. It had a pleasant yet 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...

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.

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.

Seiz and Sol
Jorgel began his search for new ingredients on the 28th May. He hopped on his father's old horse and rode it through the streets and the alleyway to the southern gate. There he exited when he noticed the mayor, Erian Seiz, at work on a hill outside the inner walls. He rode up on his horse, greeting the mayor. Jorgel asked if Erian knew anything about chemicals and told him about his plan to make a wonderous new product, but didn't mention the beetroot part. Erian seemed unfamiliar with Ketamine and its ingredients, but asked Jorgel about the incident which had happened outside of his house.

"You look a little pale," Erian noted.

"I was lucky to have my shield with me," responded Jorgel, with Erian nodding in agreement. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about these 'Sols' would you?" asked Jorgel, looking down from his horse.

Erian and his family had a long history with the town. They were close friends with the House Ida, who had a long lineage of mayors themselves, such as Maximus, Boresthorn and Clippen Ida - who was the last official mayor before Erian. Erian's rule had been fairly relaxed, but as the upcoming election grew closer and closer, he seemed more and more on edge.

Erian pondered for a moment before inviting Jorgel to follow him. Jorgel followed after him, trotting along on his horse. They made their way back through the southern gate and in to the alleyway.

"Here," Erian said. Jorgel tied up his horse to a nearby fence and looked up at the sign on the building Erian had taken him to, which read: Sol's Farming Initiate Loan Company Ltd.

"Look inside," Erian said. Jorgel hesitantly pushed open the dark oak door and walked into the building. The place was relatively empty save for a few boxes. Jorgel looked around but didn't see any information that would help him know more about the Sols family. In the back corner of the room however there was a large trap door, labelled 'employees only'.

"Go down," said Erian, with a more serious tone in his voice now.

"B-" stuttered Jorgel turning around to see Erian holding his blade. "Erian?" Jorgel questioned, with concern in his voice. He was of course not expecting Erian to turn like this so suddenly, but more concerningly, Jorgel did not have his own weapon. Erian opened the trap door and pointed his blade at Jorgel's back, forcing him to go down...

Contract Killer
They trod down into the basement of the building. It was also quite barren, but had a few barrels on the floor as well as some writings on the walls. Jorgel's attention was on Erian however who was now holding his sword towards Jorgel's chest as Jorgel backed up against the wall. Jorgel stuttered in confusion, trying to get an explanation out of Erian, but Erian's expression remained cold and emotionless. He explained that he was on good terms with the Sol family, but Jorgel still couldn't perceive what Erian's goal was.

"Wait here," Erian said, "Bracken will be with you shortly."

Jorgel watched as Erian sheathed his sword and heard him making his way back up the stairs. Almost as soon as Erian had left he heard more footsteps approaching, echoing their way down the stone steps. Bracken?

A man came through the doorway, a large netherite axe in his hand. He stared at Jorgel before introducing himself.

"I'm Bracken Sol, leader of the Sols," he said. Jorgel's fists tightened. Bracken stood in the centre of the room between Jorgel and the one exit, he then started lecturing Jorgel on what Erian and the Sols had planned. He explained how Erian had used to be good friends with House Ida until they had betrayed him, and now he had to eradicate his political opponents for the upcoming mayoral election. Bracken was his private hitman for just that, equipped with all the best gear necessary to kill off any other figures of authority in the town. Jorgel was the son of the highly regarded Hipps Rykuh, of course, and had taken his former position of power in Tuberism. Because of his father's nobility, he could also win over the favour of the people, and to be sure this wouldn't happen, Erian had to have Bracken do his dirty work.

Jorgel pleaded with Bracken, saying how he was not interested in being the mayor, he would do what ever Erian wanted, but Bracken was not interested. He held the axe up over his shoulder, with the light of the lanterns glinting off its sharp edge, he charged forwards. Jorgel held up his arms in front of his face, but knew it would be no use. The axe fell down in a powerful swing... Just missing Jorgel, as Bracken had lost his footing, slipping on to his face.

Jorgel took his arms from his face to see Bracken laying on the ground just in front of him, slowly getting back to his feet. Without thinking, Jorgel bursted towards the first door, barging it open and clambering up the steps to the trap door. He slammed against the door repeatedly but it wouldn't budge. Bracken was now at the bottom of the steps, holding his axe in both hands as he ascended towards Jorgel. Jorgel slammed against the door one final time, grunting with all his force and it flew open. He sprinted out of the stairway, so fast he had to scramble back to his feet. Still sprinting he bursted through the last door out of the building. His momentum threw him in to the river that was just in front of the building. Resurfacing, from under the murky water, he saw the door swing open again as Bracken exited just behind, and he jumped into the river after him with a powerful splash. Jorgel flailed his arms around, swimming to the other side in a frantic rush. He pushed himself out of the water gasping for breath, and got to his feet. Without looking back he sprinted through the busy alleyways and streets of the town until he reached his house, swinging open the door and quickly shutting it behind him. In his panic he quickly locked the door and shoved a chair under the handle to barricade it.

Lockdown
A city-wide announcement, Lockdown. No ones comes in, no one gets out. The orders of Mayor Seiz.

Jorgel peered out of his window at the sound of approaching footsteps. The hoards of Solanum Guards patrolling the otherwise empty streets marched their way to Jorgel's house. He went from window to window looking at how many guards had formed around his house, but there were too many to count. Orderly rows of armoured guards with their weapons ready stood staring at his residence, ready to enter at a moment's notice. Jorgel Rykuh had been labelled a heretic, and was to be captured and executed.

But Eran's ambitions had far surpassed the ridding of just Jorgel, he wanted everyone who could oppose his power to be beheaded.

The Inevitable
The sun was lower in the sky by the hour, and the guards outside grew more and more impatient. With the ordered arrest of many more townsfolk by the tyrant Eran Seiz, the town fell into a state of chaos and unrest. Jorgel peered from his window at his inevitable death, stood waiting down below.

The banging on his door became louder and louder, until the soldiers were beginning to break it off its hinges. Jorgel sat still at his father's old desk as the door broke off, and the guards rushed in, a clatter of footsteps making their way across the ground floor. He couldn't help but wonder, how it had all gone so wrong. The footsteps were now moving up the stairs. Jorgel looked down at the beetroot on the table. They sprinted across the floor towards Jorgel, who was sat facing away, still staring at the beetroot. He slid the beetroot into his pocket, seconds before a blade was placed on his neck.

The Shrine
With his hands bound at his front, he was pushed into the town square, in front of the shrine. Guards patrolled the entire area, and several prisoners were sprawled over the square. Some of them he recognised.

"Lnedi-", Jorgel muttered as he noticed the prisoner beside him.

"SILENCE," A guard shoved Jorgel's back, making him drop to his knees.

Eran was in the square too, he could be seen, circling around and mocking the prisoners he had captured.

Jorgel noticed many of the guards suddenly flock to the south side of the square, where they were confronted by a group of armed mercenaries. Both sides stood in a standoff, waiting for something to happen. Eran seemed indifferent, and continued to belittle all the captured townsfolk.

"I have a whole platoon of troops arriving," Seiz announced. He looked down at one of the prisoners, Blue Salmon, who was suspected to be responsible for the mercernaries, "You wouldn't be fast enough."

Eran marched down across the square one last time, and stopped in the centre, observing around one last time. "I see you are all here," he smiled. "Then you shall all die together. EXECUTE THE PRISONERS." The guards raised their blades to begin the bloodbath, and screams of horror rang out. Guards began swinging down on their prey, and blood streamed across the cobbles of the square. Jorgel, kneeling on the ground, froze, with his eyes wide, awaiting the moment his head would be decapitated. The guard behind him raised his sword.

Jorgel looked to his right to Lnedible, another prisoner, as a blade came hurling down towards him. Two bound hands reached out and caught the blade just before it reached him, and a terrible scream echoed out. Blue Salmon writhed from the pain in the huge cut now in his left hand, choking and bleeding on the ground. The guards behind Jorgel and Lnedible turned and grabbed Blue, pulling him up to his knees and holding him still.

The mercenaries had began their charge, and a clash commenced on one side of the square. The battle was fairly even, but the mercenaries began to wear down the guard as Ian arrived, another friend of Bleu and Lnedible. His scythe cut through the guards and their armour with ease, and a look of frustration and concern appeared on Eran's face. Looking away from his own guards being overrun, he instead rushed over to Blue.

"All your efforts have bought you and your friends a few more seconds of life," he said, snatching a sword off one of his guards. "I hope it was worth it." He turned to Jorgel, grabbing him by the head with one hand. With one slash, he drew his blade across Jorgel's throat. Jorgel collapsed choking and holding the horrific wound now in his neck. Scrambling on the ground, he fault more and more exhausted as the stream of blood kept gushing from him. Jorgel struggled more and more to stay awake but his surroundings grew dark, and his movements slowed and slowed until he lay motionless on the ground.

Awake and Alive
Blinking open his eyes, Jorgel grunted as he tried to sit up and see his surroundings. He was laying on the floor in a house in the slums, with bedsheets laid over the top of him. Through the window he could see it was late at night, and the town had fallen into silence, with no sign of fighting outside. The room was dimly lit by the glow from a small fireplace, and several others were hiding out in the house with him. Blue sat at the table, with one hand wrapped in a bandage, stained with blood, Lnedible was asleep on the floor, and Ian who had now removed his armor, was stitching a fresh scar he had from the battle. Although there seemed to be some relief that they had survived the tyrant's slaughter, a feeling of grief and exhaustion was heavy for everyone. Apps, another citizen who was friends with the group, and seemed to be the owner of the house, came through the doorway, balancing bowls of potato soup and glasses of whiskey in his hands. Jorgel pushed himself to his feet, and made his way to the table, where Apps and placed the whiskey. He dropped down into a seat and grabbed a glass.

Jorgel sighed, "Thank you, Blue, Ian... Apps."

"There is no need brother. We Solanarians must always stick together," said Blue, reaching for his whiskey.

"Potatoes grant us strength." Apps said raising his glass, Blue and Ian followed.

Jorgel hesitated before raising his too. He downed the drink with the three, and sat still staring into the fire for a moment. "I'm afraid I must be off... but thank you, I owe you all," he said getting up out of his seat.

"You are welcome, but please, Jorgel, you owe us nothing. As long as we can count on you to stand with us against these... bloodthirsty tyrants who bring doom to this town, then we will always be happy to stand aside you," Blue said to Jorgel as he made his way towards the door.

Jorgel stood still for a second with his hand on the door handle, before walking out into the night.

Beetroot-stained Hands
Rushing through the empty slums, he made his way towards the sea wall. The cold was piercing and his body was sore, but he trod onwards. He scuttered up the stone steps, until he had reached the top of the wall. Jorgel stepped out to and looked over at the sea once again. A restless black expanse. He could not understand how he felt... almost defeated. What he was looking for, he was unsure, perhaps his deity, some sort of sign, some sort of hope out there. But his eyes stopped when he saw a charred plank of wood still afloat in the water. Aside it, a torn piece of a green and white sail.

There was a choking feeling in his throat, and a wetness in his eyes.

"Father-..."

His mind raced. All this destruction, this death, this chaos... and he just felt useless. Was this all the vision he had? Was he supposed to stop it? He rummaged through his pocket, taking out a beetroot and holding it before him. How... How could it all go so wrong?

He looked back up at the wreckage of his father's ship, desperately searching for some kind of answer. Jorgel thought of his father, he thought about what Hipps would do.

Jorgel remembered himself as a young boy, sat on the floor before his father, intrigued about his many wise teachings. A golden ray of sun was beaming through the window onto his father, who sat on a rocking chair trying to fill a pipe with his hook-hand. The memory was vague... Hipps said something about potatoes and ancestors and carrots, but what he said next, Jorgel remembered very clearly.

Hipps leaned forwards, "If you keep going on about beetroots you will doom us all, do you hear me?!" Hipps paused and sighed," Its best not to tell you why Jorgel. But you must always remember that beetroots are a crop of pure evil, their mere presence alone can and has brought about tragedies too horrific to speak of."

Jorgel dropped the beetroot to the ground, turning around to look over the town. It was silent and gray, Jorgel had never remembered it so emotionless. Erian's massacre... A tragedy too horrific to speak of. But it was not Erian who was to blame for all this, the long time friend of the town who had turned mad with power in the middle of his mayorship, no. It had to be Jorgel...

He turned back around to face his father's shipwreck once again.

"Whatever you do, Jorgel, never worship the beetroot," his father's voice echoed.

"I'm so sorry."

Jorgel plummetted forwards towards the sea. His cloak fluttering wildly as he descended to his death.

Jorgel Rykuh, May 2022 - Nov 2022