Highvale Family/Jonas

Jonas grew up with a shadow over his name. He was the bastard son of Lord Thaddeus Highvale, the stern and distant head of House Highvale, a noble house of middling influence and wealth within the kingdom of Nothoi. The Highvales held their estates in the Watto region, a place of steep rocky slopes, hard-earned sparse farmlands, and hidden dangers lurking in the wilderness beyond. It was a land known for its traditions, where noble bloodlines were fiercely protected, and any hint of scandal was buried deep beneath the surface. Jonas was one such scandal.

His mother was a servant girl, a woman of modest means and no family of note. She had caught Lord Thaddeus's eye one night when the wine had flowed too freely and propriety had been left behind. Nine months later, Jonas was born—his mother gave him no surname but raised him with love and care, keeping him close as she toiled in the Highvale estates. Though the whispers of his parentage spread among the servants and common folk, no one dared speak openly of the boy’s true bloodline. The Highvales, after all, would never acknowledge him. To them, he was nothing more than a commoner, just another face in the village that surrounded the estate. And yet, Jonas bore the resemblance of his father—strong jaw, sharp eyes, and a fire in his spirit that could not be easily tamed.

Jonas had grown up with a chip on his shoulder, constantly aware of what he was and what he could never be. His mother died when he was young, leaving him to fend for himself in a world that had no place for him. As a bastard, he had no claim to lands or titles, and even the servants of the Highvale estate treated him with disdain. But Jonas was not one to lie down and accept his lot in life. He was driven by a deep sense of pride, a desire to prove himself worthy of the blood that ran through his veins, or in spite of it, even if no one else would recognize it.

By the time he was a teenager, Jonas had left Watto behind, tired of the lingering resentment and scornful glances. He struck out on his own, becoming a sword-for-hire and taking whatever work he could find. Monster hunting, guarding merchants, tracking down bandits—Jonas did it all. But it wasn’t just the coin that drove him. It was the thrill of adventure, the chance to carve out a name for himself that had nothing to do with the Highvale lineage that denied him.

Jonas quickly gained a reputation as a skilled adventurer. His upbringing in the shadow of House Highvale had left him with a gnawing sense of injustice, but it had also hardened him. He had learned to fight young—first with the other boys in the village who mocked him for his parentage, then with swords he stole from the Highvale armory before he left. He trained himself to fight, to hunt, and to survive in the wilds. His sword was never far from his hand, and though he had no formal training, his skill grew quickly through trial and error in countless skirmishes.

He soon found himself drawn to the more dangerous hunts—the undead, in particular. The Watto region and beyond had long been plagued by restless spirits and cursed graves, and the dead had a way of returning to haunt the living. Jonas took on these hunts with fervor, seeing in them a path to fame and fortune. Perhaps, if he killed enough of the horrors that roamed the land, his name would rise above that of a mere common adventurer. Perhaps one day, the name Jonas would be spoken of with respect, even within the halls of House Highvale.

The western regions of Nothoi had become his preferred hunting ground—remote, dangerous, and filled with the promise of glory for any who could rid the land of its undead scourge. Despite his desire for recognition, Jonas remained pragmatic. He knew that no matter how many monsters or undead he killed, House Highvale would never acknowledge him. And yet, every time he took up his sword, he fought with the fire of a man who had something to prove—not just to others, but to himself.

Jonas may have been born a bastard, but he had the heart of a noble warrior. One way or another, he would leave his mark on the world, even if it took blood, steel, and frost to do it.