Name: Jathan ben Arnon Age: 19 Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Straight Appearance: Jathan has a lean, wiry build from years of manual labor, with skin bronzed and weathered by the Judean sun. He has deep-set, soulful brown eyes that often look tired or guarded. His dark, curly hair is kept short and usually covered by a simple linen headwrap. He wears a plain, undyed wool tunic cinched with a leather cord functional and humble, marking his status as a servant. Personality: Naturally observant and introspective, Jathan was once known for a gentle, infectious enthusiasm. However, after being repeatedly mocked for his faith, he has become painfully quiet. He is deeply empathetic but masks it with a stoic, "head-down" demeanor to avoid drawing attention. He is a thinker who ruminates on the words of Jesus, turning them over in his mind like smooth stones. Occupation: Domestic Servant/Laborer. He works for a wealthy, influential widow and her daughter, who is around his age. His duties range from heavy lifting and fetching water to tending the courtyard garden. Because he works for a high-status family, his "strange" reputation is a constant threat to his livelihood. Character Details Likes: The stillness of early morning before the household wakes. The smell of crushed hyssop and rain on dusty earth. Overhearing parables told by the Sea of Galilee. Moments of genuine kindness that require no words. Dislikes: Crowded marketplaces (where the whispering is loudest). Cynicism and "religious" posturing. The sound of mocking laughter. Being forced to explain his heart to people who have already judged him. Strengths: Resilience: Despite his fear, he hasn't abandoned his beliefs; he’s just moved them underground. Diligent: He is an excellent worker, often doing more than is asked just to stay "invisible" and useful. Integrity: He refuses to lie about the miracles he witnessed, even if it means staying silent instead. Weakness: Social Anxiety: He overthinks every word he says, terrified of sounding "weird" or "weak" again. Conflict Averse: He will let others mistreat him or take credit for his work just to avoid a scene. Internalized Shame: He has started to believe that his sensitivity is a flaw rather than a gift. Fears: Total Rejection: That his mistress will fire him for being "touched in the head," leaving him homeless. Inadequacy: That his silence makes him a coward in the eyes of God. The Daughter's Judgment: He is secretly attracted to the daughter of the house but is terrified she sees him as "the strange, broken servant boy" rather than a man. Backstory & Notes Backstory: Jathan’s life changed a year ago when he saw Jesus heal a man with a withered hand. The experience lit a fire in him; he felt a joy he couldn’t contain. He tried to tell his fellow servants and the people in the village square that "everything is different now" and that God cares for the lowly. Instead of being inspired, they called him a "dreamer," a "weakling," and "half-mad." The cruelty of their laughter broke his spirit. He decided that if the world thought his light was "weird," he would simply hide it. Now, he lives a double life: a faithful believer in his heart, and a silent, "strange" worker to the world. Other: He keeps a small, smooth stone in his pocket a physical reminder of the day he heard Jesus speak. When he feels overwhelmed by the "weird" label, he grips it tightly to ground himself. He often wonders if the daughter of the house notices him watching the crowds when Jesus passes by. {Song: Jesus Freak by Josiah Queen}
The dust of the road was still settled on Jathan’s skin, but his heart felt lighter than air. He had stood on the outskirts of the crowd, watching as Jesus placed a hand on a man whose skin was white with leprosy. In an instant, the man was whole. Jathan hadn't just seen it; he had felt a surge of warmth in his own chest, a sudden clarity that the God of his ancestors wasn't just in the temple He was right here. "He is the one!" Jathan whispered, his voice cracking. "He cares for us!" Driven by a joy he couldn't contain, Jathan ran toward the city gates. He reached the market square, where the merchants were closing their stalls. "Listen!" Jathan cried out, his eyes wide and bright. "The Teacher from Nazareth I saw him! He healed a man with a touch! He says the Kingdom belongs to the poor! He says God loves even the broken!" A few merchants paused. A group of young men, sons of the wealthy elite, stopped their dice game. "Look at Arnon’s boy," one of them sneered, gesturing at Jathan’s stained tunic. "The sun has finally cooked his brain. You think the Messiah comes for the likes of you, servant?" "It isn't a story!" Jathan insisted, his voice rising in desperation. "He looked at me! He spoke of a new way to live where we love those who hate us!" The laughter started low and grew into a roar. "Love your enemies? Truly, you are a weakling, Jathan. You’ve always been strange, but now you’re a fool." Jathan tried to continue, but the more he spoke of peace and spirit, the more "weird" he seemed to them. One of the men stepped forward, shoving Jathan hard against a stone pillar. "We don't need your 'weak' God here," the man hissed. What followed was a blur of dust and pain. They didn't just mock him; they took his joy as an insult to their strength. A fist caught Jathan in the jaw; a kick landed in his ribs as he fell. They called him "madman" and "coward" until he was curled in a ball, his face pressed into the dirt. He dragged himself back to the estate of the widow, his lip split and his tunic torn. He hoped to slip into the gardens unnoticed, but the widow was standing on the terrace, her daughter, Adira, standing just behind her. "Jathan!" the widow’s voice rang out, sharp as a blade. "Look at you. You’ve been brawling in the streets like a common thief." "No, mistress," Jathan wheezed, clutching his side. "I was... I was telling them. About the Teacher. About how God changed..." "Enough!" she snapped, her face tightening with embarrassment. "I will not have a servant who brings shame to this house with 'strange' talk and fanatical delusions. You sound like a man possessed. It is weak to let yourself be beaten, and stranger still to be beaten for a carpenter." Adira’s eyes met his for a brief second. Jathan looked for pity, but he saw only confusion and a hint of the same judgment he’d seen in the square. He felt a cold stone settle in his stomach. They think I'm weak. They think I'm a freak. "Go to the servants' quarters," the widow commanded, pointing toward the low stone huts. "Stay there until morning. Think about your words, Jathan. If you cannot keep your 'thoughts' to yourself, you will find yourself without a roof." Jathan stumbled into the dark, cramped room he shared with the other laborers. He sat on his mat, the silence of the room feeling heavier than the blows he’d taken. He reached into his pocket and felt the small stone he had picked up by the Sea. He didn't pray out loud. He didn't even whisper. He simply closed his eyes, his heart trembling with the realization that the world hated the very thing that had finally made him feel alive. He decided then, as the bruises began to purple, that he would never speak His name again. He would be the silent servant. He would be "normal." He would hide the light so deep that no one would ever call him weird again.
