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Jordan grew up a peasant boy, his father a blacksmith and his mother a seamstress. Both were perfectly happy with their lot in life and the family lived quietly and uneventfully in their village, which is just how they liked it. Until a band of marauding Shavs decided to raid; at the time, Jordan and his sweetheart were in the barn, exchanging private caresses with each other. They both hid out well until a group of Abandoned broke through the door of the barn, trying to look for stragglers. Outside, blood and carnage took place as the raiders plundered and killed anyone in their path. Armed with only a pitchfork, Jordan did what most teenage boys trying to impress their girlfriends do: he charged blindly into the fray. Except what happened next should not have quite happened -- in a stroke of absolute luck, as no one could call it otherwise, all four of the Shavs somehow found themselves killed by that charge as a haystack fell upon the first and he hit a wooden fixture on the floor, while the other three struck each other fatally in the confusion, letting Jordan walk out of a bad situation with his sweetheart in tow. They parted ways afterwards: she thought he was up to something sinister like dark magic and decided to run for the hills instead of sticking around with him. But all is well that ends well: in short order, his life would take a sudden and unusual upturn: having taken up the sword of one of the Shavs, he would go on to be challenged by a wayfaring knight who confused him for anything BUT a peasant boy, despite his insistence -- and to this knight's great upset, he had to surrender his weapon and armor when Jordan won by forcing him to stumble back into a rock and drew first blood. Before forfeiting those, however, he knighted Jordan on the spot, who would go on to pledge his sword to a Crownlands baron in desperate need of able-bodied fighters for the Silent War. Unfortunately for this Baron, his people were ambushed by the enemy and cut down to a man. That man being, unsurprisingly, Sir Jordan. A treetrunk fell over the campfire and started a minor fiery incident and he took the opportunity to flee, stabbing a foe in the process and running for dear life. Jordan is now a hedge knight of some experience; having no-one to pledge his sword to, he travels from one place to another, seeking to do good deeds and hoping his luck doesn't run out. So far, it hasn't.

With cropped short black hair and striking blue eyes, in addition to an athlete's build, Jordan looks the stereotypical part of a knight. His frame has filled out with muscle, with broad shoulders, and thick, well-defined limbs that are the more obvious signs of a fulfilled potential for athleticism. His skin is olive and somewhat weathered, the result of many years spent laboring and wandering under the sun, no doubt. His face is handsome, charming in a common man's way; he has a bright, engaging dimpled smile, in addition to a straight, slightly upturned nose and eyes that crinkle at the corners when he expresses joy; his squared jaw adds a certain hero's likeness to his appearance. His voice is deep, and he could be a talented singer were he not prone to speaking in often loud tones.

Jordan hasn't been given time to stop and pursue formal education. He has a filthy sense of humor and he has a peasant's sensibilities. He knows how to show deference to his betters and how to be courteous, sure, but he'll usually forgo that for a nice and florid string of curses if he has to work his way past an incident. He tends to be loquacious and care-free: the sort of person who might make impulsive choices in life and stick to them with responsibility and some modicum of poise and yet trust in their good fortunes, but he's seldom backing down from a challenge by his peers.