Jørn Wartooth

Jørn Wartooth was born Jørn Ullman and changed his last name when he decided he no longer wanted to be a Norwegian fisherman's son. He has two decades of experience as a mercenary, and a fearsome, well-earned reputation for his brutality and combat prowess — he would likely still be leaving a trail of blood across Europe if the men he worked alongside hadn't turned on him out of fear while they were passing through Dornie and left him for dead.

He was picked up by Edgar Ross who took him home and had the local physician nurse him back to health. Unfortunately, Jørn never fully recovered from his injuries, forcing him to make peace with the fact that his life as a career mercenary was over. Instead, he took work as Edgar's personal bodyguard, though he spends as much time watching his employer's back as he does his employer's wife and teenage daughter. He sometimes accompanies Duncan Rowntree's militia on patrol and on raids, provided that he is entitled to a cut of the spoils.

Jørn possesses a polar bear skin that he is rarely seen without, and allows him to turn into one as long as he's wearing it.


Full Name: Jørn Wartooth
Age: 43
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Light Blue

Status: Alive
Occupation: Bodyguard
Origin: Fosnavåg, Norway
Allegiance: Clan Ross

First Seen: Prinsessen Og Udyret
Last Seen:

Standing at 6'6" and an athletic 240 pounds, Jorn Wartooth's physical presence is not one to be taken lightly. The embodiment of a Scandinavian, to be sure, he carries himself with a natural haggardness, though his posture is strong-backed and straight. His general appearance and even voice- is rough, almost wolfish in its color and gesture, and seemingly mercurial in the way he presents himself. To some, he could be that eponymous tall, dark, and handsome man; to others, a brooding billy-goat-gruff. Plain, earth brown hair is kept somewhat long past the slight recede of hairline and long forehead, and his sharp, pale blue eyes are always more expressive than the long line of his mouth- even if he does decide to crack a rare toothy smile. His straight nose looks like it has been broken and re-set at least once or twice, and the dark stubble over his angled chin and heavy jaw is barely tamed.

Lined by the elements and war, his body is scarred in many places, and leaner in its muscularity; he normally wears light or medium-weight armors over civilian clothes, ordinarily favoring Norse styles of dress overall, down to often keeping some religious items under his tunic. He keeps weapons on him at all times, most instances including a hefty bastard sword. The one thing that always accompanies him, unless explicitly noted or disallowed, is the ivory-furred polar bear hide that he wears around his broad shoulders. It is in incredible condition, considering, and is customarily worn as a cloak- with the head able to act as a hood, and forepaws often clasped across his heart.


  • Otto Ullman † - Father
  • Liv Ullman (née Palonen) † - Mother
  • Ulrik Tyrsson † - Surrogate Father
  • Linnea Skovgaard - Daughter
  • Some of his extended family may still live.

Portrayed by: Jerome Flynn


“Det en var gang, bodde det en gutt… som skulle bli en mann.”

Convention dictates that a child born to tradition would someday become beholden to it. Convention, when faced against desires, finds itself at much of a loss; the willpower of a man is what long ago gave him the ability to survive. This same willpower, such as it is, gave its gift to a young boy in faraway Fosnavåg. A boy who, in earnest, dreamt of adventure and of glory- a boy with hands that tasted of brine, and hair that smelt of fish.

Jørn Ullman was not the richest, nor the wittiest, nor even the most skilled child in Fosnavåg. He was able to learn his sire’s trade, if only through a steady hand and a stalwart heart. His father was a fisherman, netting seemingly only as much as his family ever needed. Even then, somehow, he would find time to spend at the local tavern, while his son and young, gentle little wife remained at home. Where Otto Ullman was uncaring, and often abusive in his drunkenness, Liv Ullman was his polar opposite. Having married early and far outside of her own home, she was not wholly prepared for a living as a fisherman’s wife; her family had been Finnish lumberers, primarily building boats rather than sailing them. Liv was kind, and warm-hearted, and seemed to bloom when she bore a son of her own in the year ninety-two, on the eve of a Yule night. Jørn was quite large from the start, and even when he was in his pre-pubescent years found himself towering over his mother. She loved him all the same, however. Perhaps, in the end, moreso, when he might step in-between his parents. Liv taught him a great many things- the Old Ways of her own family, stories of how to be brave, and how to be protective of the things that he loved. In the end, it was not enough to have taught him; she died on a frigid and quiet Norwegian night, and they buried her at sea the next day. Though Jørn knew that her body would return to the earth, and that world would show her the kindness that she shared, his resentment towards his father grew. For, you see, it was his father that had beaten her so harshly the night before, and forced her to bed before she had died in slumber in a few hours time.

The legacy of a bear-king.

Ever since he was small, Jørn could remember asking his mother a great many things about the world. She did not know many of them, of course, but did her best to answer what she knew, and encouraged him to find out what she could not explain. It was this, his feeling of loss, and his spawning anger, that led Jørn to finally get the courage to leave Fosnavåg behind. He owed his father nothing, and so, in the dead of night some short months after his mother’s death, simply vanished. A young man dreaming of adventure and of glory, Jørn took it upon himself to begin such events by catching a dawn voyage across the coast of Norway, and into Oslo. At a spry fourteen, Jørn had few years under his belt, yet was able to prove himself quite a brute. This is what caught the eye of a delinquent gang in his first months there, and later on, the reason that he was subsequently able to join a mercenary group traveling through to the coastal towns to the south. A large teenager was essentially either a meat shield, or a glorified chore boy; after a few skirmishes, however, it appeared that he held promise. They took him under as one of their own soon enough.

The leader of this band was a man by the name of Ulrik Tyrsson. A self-made mercenary, Ulrik was not only a relentless type of man, he was also a man of many talents. He possessed the abilities of a berserker- to be able to shapeshift to an ursine form, and to be able to channel pure rage into combat. His secrets were a mystery to many of them, though his leadership was unquestionable, and unshakable. It did not take Jørn long before he began to look up to Tyrsson as a role model- a father figure, as you will. Something that undoubtedly, the fisherman’s son had never truly had before. Ulrik soon took note of this, and in time was able to come to terms with asking the boy to become his apprentice. The life of a berserker was not an easy one. Jørn, however, was in dire need of a place to concentrate his anger. To put it to use, where it would protect him, rather than causing him harm. It was with a heavy heart that Ulrik took the boy under his wing, taking him in to teach him the secrets of an ancient bloodlust for battle. The tale behind the hide of a single polar bear from the northernmost reaches came only second, when Ulrik was certain of Jørn’s commitment enough to allow him to test the abilities of the enchanted pelt. He told the boy a tale of a bear-king and the human woman he had fallen in love with, whom both hailed from the tip of the world, living free underneath of colored ribbons stretching from one end of the starry horizon to the other.

It was as if Jørn was born to play the part he had now been given. Something clicked in those few years that he lived and fought with Ulrik Tyrsson and his warband. The fisherman’s son fast became a fierce warrior, young though he was. A strong boy, with stronger dreams that remained from his childhood, all of adventures and glories that looked to be within reach over each passing week. Tyrsson continued to take them through Scandinavia like a blade, and the gang was able to become one of the most profitable in decades. It was to be a bittersweet victory, as many such things ought to be. The men got too headstrong- too proud to always listen to Tyrsson. This fault led them into a battle that they could not win; Ulrik died in that preventable skirmish, with more than two dozen of his most talented men. Jørn was left with the rest, who seemed too content to build pyres for the dead and be on with themselves. He was determined to see that his mentor’s body was given a proper and decent rite, despite many men leaving altogether. He knew that Ulrik would not have him remain angered with the band; it may have been their action to cause the battle, but Tyrsson died as a warrior ought to- a blade in each hand, bloodied to the grits. Many of the band split up into several more, heading out into the winds; Jørn found himself bequeathed Ulrik’s bearskin, for that no other man would dare to take it. Out of fear, for both Ulrik’s spirit and the spirit of the bear itself, regardless of if they knew that Tyrsson was not of the magi. They feared it’s power, as much as they had feared and respected him in life. With years of training behind him, and a mantle of white upon his shoulders, Jørn Ullman made the metamorphosis into Jørn Wartooth- a surname, which he tells to those who ask- is in honor of the man that he considered more of a father to him than the first could have ever been.

The berserker warlord.

Only a few years after his career began, Jørn Wartooth found himself moving toward a near two-decade reign as one of the most infamous warband leaders in Scandinavia and Central Europe. He took only some of the remaining men from Ulrik’s band, in order to first establish himself. Jørn became somewhat notorious for having a heavily cycling roster of mercenaries under his watch; while his men changed often, however, his influence did not. He was a brutal mercenary, fearsome in combat, intelligent in strategy, and willing to do whatever it took to win, make a point, and get the most compensation for a job well done- or, for that matter, the most compensation for a job so well done that there was only rumor to follow it. These mercenaries were able to smear a streak of red over the face of Europe, taking work where they might find it, and taking the sides most able to compensate them in their quest for glories both physical and not. There were, in rarer times, occasions where the band would fight for what they saw as The Right. Jørn’s men respected him in earnest, though they also feared him for his prowess, as well as the bear whose skin he wore. It was a deservedly balanced existence, and for a time, Jørn was a self-made lord. The years were kind to him, in the way that years can be kind to men of war. Jørn’s scars multiplied a hundred-fold, as did his reputation. It was only a matter of time before it would someday catch up to him.

Scotland was intended to be the rock to help Jørn’s band to better things. Months before he bought passage to the isles proper, it was said that he had become more and more erratic- when suddenly, it stopped- and he returned to his usual self. This instance, however, changed something for him, and the band set off for the green isles of the Celtic sea. Some of the men claimed that his gods had sent him a vision. Most others felt right in claiming that his ego was finally getting the better of him, as it had for so many a man before. Whatever the case may be, it led them all to continue a swift climb up the coastline. They hit what villages they could find, and raided what lands remained, inhabited or not. Jørn’s band, readily enough, had little to no insight as to what their leader was imagining was here; the land along the east Irish sea was countryside, yet they seemed to be searching for something. The increasing lack of spoils, and the decreasing faith in Wartooth’s sensibilities finally hit a tipping point when Jørn exclaimed that he had found the jewel named Dornie, and intended to take it for his own. The jewel, he said, that his gods had led him to- ‘Find your fortune in Dornie’, they said. Nothing more, nothing less. There was, unfortunately, one thing that he had not counted on, and that was his men turning on him the night that they finally reached the town limits. The last thing that he was expecting from such a loyal band was fear- the fear of him- that in turn led to a bold mutiny from within. In one fell swoop, they took upon him like hounds. Jørn’s warband left him for dead, dropping him into the murky waters of Loch Duich. The men took his supplies and armor beforehand- no use in a total waste, after all. Still, none of them would risk the skin and its supposed spirits. They set sail immediately for the channel, leaving Jørn to an unimpressive and seemingly certain fate.

He did not drown there in the chilled March waters, as fate would have it. Jørn found himself waking with his face against earth and knees in the mud, and the suffocating heaviness of a familiar pelt. He had washed up, not far from Dornie itself, along one of the coastal dirt roads so often used by smaller groups of travellers. The travellers to find him there, stuck amongst the rocks, were none other than an entourage of Edgar Ross- including the young prince himself. Strange happenings were not rare in Dornie to begin with, but finding a stripped man on the brink of death stuck in the peat shore of the loch was something to strike more curiosity than anything. They hauled him out and back to the town, where Edgar saw to it that Jørn, in his mostly unconscious haze, was taken straight to the new healer. Jørn recuperated, though at first it was a difficult task; being a healthy, strong man seemed to help his case. In the end, however, it was not enough for him to heal completely. The attack left him afflicted primarily with some nerve damage in his lower back, around his spine, which in turn would continue to affect left leg to various degrees; there was also to be a lingering brain trauma that would not reveal itself for some years. It was in this healing state that Edgar Ross came to him personally, after finding out the news. He had it in his head that he would have the infamous mainlander known as Jørn Wartooth for his own. It took some more coercion than usual, if only because of Jørn’s pride, and his reticence in believing that his days as a mercenary were over. Edgar wished to hire him on as a personal bodyguard as soon as he was able. The berserker took the offer when he was able to freely leave Aislinn’s care.

Perhaps on that journey, Jørn Wartooth did, in fact, find his fortune in Dornie. As of late in the year of one-thirty-four, Jørn remained with Edgar Ross and his family for seven and a half years, and continues to remain there. The work tempered him out quickly; it was not soldier work, and while he would go out with the militia from time to time, or use his experience to teach more like him- it was nothing like he was used to, when he began. In the several years since his coming to Dornie, Jørn was to find a steady sort of dignity, and a new purpose in his work; despite this, and the good he has done, the reputation that he built over decades stalks before him as plainly as a shadow casts itself upon the earth. Possibly, he prefers it that way.


A socially modest man.

While he was, in his youth, a more chaotic type of man, Jørn has always been of a quiet and reserved nature. For the most part, he is also a private person that expresses himself physically more than he does verbally; this can be misjudged as a more malignant brooding, because of his tendency to be withdrawn in public. In truth, Jørn is simply a socially modest man. He allows others to mistake him for a loner, as it allows him in turn to choose more carefully who he socializes with. He likes to be around others, even if his outward manner is something to be desired. Within certain friendly situations and with people that he is more familiar with, he will, many times, become far more of an extrovert. That said, Jørn heavily values his personal space, and will go to some lengths to make sure that he has it if he feels it threatened. A man of few words, he will make them count; commonly, he speaks with a polite curtness, and a more literal tone- perhaps one reason that he tends to take others at similar face value. He will hardly ever tell someone more than what they have asked for, or deserve to hear. This straightforwardness lends itself to the rest of him, and comes out in his honesty with his friends, his incredibly strong willpower, and the stalwart sort of pride he carries around with him. Though such things can lend themselves to lesser tact- and they do, oftentimes with authority figures or those he dislikes- Jørn will do his best to be considerate of what he says and does. Politeness is second nature, even if said tact is not.

Warmer than he seems.

Philosophy is a big part of his life, and has always been, and he fancies himself born of it. Jørn is a morally greyed man when it comes to what must be done, and jaded to most acts of violence and bloodshed. He is willing to do a great many things, although his actions lean towards what he perceives as good. Despite what lies in his past, and what gossip states, he will not kill indiscriminately; there is always a reason for it, be it material or logical. His actions always will have a purpose, similar to his social patterns; however, in the same manner as they, not everyone is able to discern that there is a meaning to everything. It is part cleverness, and part intuition that lets him mask intention so well. He uses his mind to mask his curiosity as well- those that know him best find him to be most interested when he looks like he has none whatsoever. He does so enjoy his freedoms- and that includes the freedom to seem a certain way. A free man’s sense of independence is balanced with his definition of loyalty, in that he does not betray trust when it is given to him.

A freedom-loving nature can also be a burden when the time is right; especially since his years in service to Edgar, Jørn can become incredibly restless on a rather consistent basis. This typically can get him into trouble, because his energy levels can get the better of him; glory-hounding and recklessness come out during these phases- these are the times where Jørn will set out to find a way to calm himself into reservation once again, lest he cause a catastrophe for himself or someone else. For the past several years, Jørn has also developed a mood disorder that radicalizes his restless episodes, and seems closely related to a low spectrum bi-polar disorder. It is only in partly rooted in his natural need for independence; the other cause is that he did suffer some brain trauma when he was overtaken by his men, in addition to his more obvious physical pain.

In his personal life, Jørn is gruffly protective of those that he cares for, to the point that he would undoubtedly put life and limb on the line for the ones that mattered most. Having no true father figure until Ulrik took him in, he is able to recognize that same need in others. Jørn finds himself to be the perfect blend of toughness and love to be one to another, as Tyrsson was to him. Not all is seriousness, with him- Jørn is able to laugh at the right things around the right people, and possesses a darker sense of humor than most. Jørn also possesses a more romanticised side, despite his tendency to never needlessly flirt, and his ability to awkwardly clam up when the table is turned. In the very least, when it comes to it, he tries to be sincere and gracious. Sincerity plays a part in his spirituality; he is not facetious about his religiousness, and is modest enough that he opens his heart to spiritual guidance constantly. He gives due recognition and respect to the world around him, and every variety of creature within it.

For more, see Character Notes for Jørn.
For logs, see Logs for Jørn.