Jarot ir'Dantus

[Trojan Hamster]

Jarot ir'Dantus is the eldest son of the ir'Dantus family and brother to the famous Khale ir'Dantus. Born with a dragonmark under suspicious circumstances, his father stripped him of his heritage at a young age, eventually sending him away to schooling when he became too much of a burden to the family. The academy burned down, and Jarot was assumed dead for over five years before he suddenly turned back up at his family's lands.

Since then he has enlisted in the military with his brother, and risen quickly through the ranks, although many assume this is simply due to him riding his brother's coattails. Regardless, his valor in battle is well known among the troops, as is his recklessness and frequent disregard for his fellow soldiers. His fellow commanders believe he is actually acting as the stick to his brother's carrot, he scares the men into discipline while Khale inspires loyalty and bravery amongst them. Many though just assume he's as much a bastard in spirit as he is in blood.

As a child Jarot was a cheerful prankster despite the punishments it usually brought upon him by his ever distant father, since returning to the ir'Dantus estate though he has taken a darker turn. Sardonic to a fault, he seems to take great pleasure in making sport of others woes and rarely shows any sympathy even to his closest friends. It could be said that he cares for those close to him in his own way, but the "tough love" he shows often feels more like the crack of a whip than the words of a friend.

The dark rings that perpetually surround Jarot's eyes these days make it plain that although he finds sleep he rarely finds rest. His shortly cropped white hair once had him pegged for a far different path than the warrior he is today, with a body hardened from several years in military service to the Cyran crown and a mind tempered by the horrors of war, but any thoughts of magical study burned away with the school he was sent to.

These days he rarely dresses in anything other than his uniform, albeit often quite askew and disheveled. His boots are unpolished, his coat dusty and everything else wrinkled, but at least washed.



The blade Jarot returned from his travels with is a wicked looking piece strangely resembling a carved Khyber shard with a smokey blue black surface and faint veins running throughout the carefully etched blade. It has served him well in the war and even his allies have learned to fear the dark tendrils of fire that seems to crackle from it in the heat of battle.



Although few other than Khale and Sophia have seen it, many know the rumor of Jarot's dragonmark and the stain it has put upon his heritage. Not tied to any one house though, this dark crimson sigil has always left those who see it ill at ease since the day he was born.

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[Trojan Hamster]

“Don’t be like that brother,” a young Khale only eight winters or so chided as he plopped down in the grass next to him, “I asked father several times for you to come too, you know I didn’t want to travel without you let alone play for a bunch of father’s friends.”

“It’s just not fair,” Jarot whined trying to rub away the hints of tears he had been holding back since running off to the orchard, “Father takes you everywhere and he’s so proud of you, while I end up cleaning chicken coops and feeding pigs.”

The younger ir’Dantus didn’t have much of a response to that, Jarot was right of course, but then Jarot was a troublemaker, father was just being strict was all.

“Maybe I’m good at music too,” Jarot continued after a rather pronounced sniffle, “He never lets me try though.”

“Brother, you stole into the study two months ago and let yourself try,” Khale reminded him with a slight smile, “You were terrible, but maybe if you listened to father he’d be more willing to…”

“I’ve tried listening to him!” Jarot spat angrily, “I did all my chores for an entire month once, with no trouble, no nothing, and he didn’t care at all!”

Khale sighed, “Well you’ve still got me and Sophie right? That’s something isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” his elder brother admitted, “I guess so, but I don’t like it when you’re all off somewhere without me, it makes me feel… like…”

Noticing his loss for words, Khale just grabbed him by an arm and tried to drag him to his feet, “Come on let’s go find Sophie, I’m sure you’ll feel better once we’re all off skipping stones or something.”

“Brother don’t…” the world seemed to spin for a moment, and faint hints of dark crimson crept out from Jarot’s shirt like a tiger stalking its prey, “I don’t feel…”

Jarot’s words slurred and his vision blurred as suddenly a horde of reddish black tendrils sprang from his skin onto his brother’s offending arm. The sun eclipsed, sending the orchard into a murky twilight as Khale screamed, fire black as pitch engulfing him as he tried to tear himself away and found he could not.

Explosions shook the fields around them as ghostly figures of men, beasts and warforged did battle amidst the smoldering trees. Thunder roared, but could not drown out the screams as the two children flashed from their horrified selves to the grim faced Jarot the soldier and his shining champion of a brother burning before him. The screams would not stop.


Jarot awoke suddenly, as always, his face neutral and unmoved other than the sheen of sweat on his brow. Despite what sleep he found, his vivid dreams always kept him from rest. For an hour or so he focused his mind, sharpening his senses as he dragged himself back fully into the waking world. Finally he got slowly to his feet, stretching each limb like a great cat preparing for the hunt, and with a slight smile he threw on his clothes and headed for the door.

He had a prisoner to interrogate.