Jorkas Saremp
Proprietor/ Owner/ Manager/ Chief Barkeep of the Rusty Boot Tavern.
Jorkas Saremp stands barely three and a half feet tall but fills a room like smoke from a strong hearth. His skin’s the color of saddle leather, creased by years of river wind and alehouse lamp‑light. What remains of his beard looks like a patchwork of wiry copper threads, unevenly singed at the ends from leaning too close to his fire while arguing with it about temperature. His nose is broad and crooked from an old bar‑fight with an orc (a story he tells with pride and wildly shifting details depending on how many pints he’s had).
He dresses in rolled‑up shirtsleeves and a soot‑dark vest strung with keys, corks, and copper charms that clink when he moves. A thin scar runs down one cheek—a memento, he claims, from “cavalry saber practice” during his alleged service with the dwarves of Bern Laduhr. His wiry frame moves with surprising precision; when he pours a drink, every motion lands exactly on time, as if he’s keeping rhythm no one else hears.
Though his mouth settles often in a grim frown, it never reaches his eyes. Those sharp hazel eyes dance with mean laughter, always measuring a customer’s honesty, thirst, or gullibility. He wipes his mugs with a cloth older than most patrons and mutters constantly—to himself, to the furniture, and occasionally to the collection of boot‑spurs nailed above the bar “for luck.”
Jorkas claims he started the Rusty Boot “because war won’t buy its own ale,” but anyone watching him tend that smoky tavern can tell—it’s less a business than a stage he never plans to leave.
Current Location
Species
Children
Sex
male
Eyes
hazel
Hair
copper shot with a dirty gray
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
very dark tan/brown
Height
41 inches
Weight
42 lbs
Ruled Locations
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