(Alright, I'll bite)<br/><br/>Jorn was a tall, raven-haired, young man who looked almost exactly like his father, except that his skin was a darker tan, evidence of his mother's darker complexion. Also, he was yet a few inches shorter than Vennar, as he was still rather young. Still apprenticing in his father's trade, he had been supplementing the family's income by running parcels between businesses in the city. It was good exercise for his legs, and it gave him a good exposure to many different parts of Tarnegar, and the way the different classes lived and spoke to one another. Despite never having the money for an education, his sharp mind had managed to pick up a great amount of worldly knowledge simply through casual conversation with the social elite and their servants.<br/><br/>The youth burst through the door quickly, eager to make up for time lost due to some delays on his last route. The smell of molten steel assaulted him like a force, and he wrinkled his nose at it, despite having dealt with it for all of his childhood. "<strong>Father!</strong>Fineg's been...", Jorn began to call out as he entered the enclosed but well ventilated blacksmith's shop, only to trail off as he saw his father engaged in personal business. The youth fell silent and waited at the door with a sombre look, one hand resting on the door frame, his eyes dwelling heavily on his mother's portrait.