Forsilvra :: Winds of Change
Old 12-20-2011, 07:27 PM
Dagonet Harrowgate
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Default Dagonet Harrowgate

[Your Information]
Name: Gent
Contact: Smoke signal.

[Public Application]

Character Name: Sir Dagonet Meridian Jonathan Harrowgate, called 'The Red Lion'.
Character Age: 38
Gender: Male
Birthday (including year): 3rd of January 203
Current Location: Forsilvra City, Forsilvra
House [Birth and Marriage if applicable]: Harrowgate, pledged to the Fontenot House.
Banner Appearance: - - Each Lion for each member of the original House.
House Description: The Harrowgate House was established less than thirty years ago, when a common man of Arbrecht saved the life of a young Marcus DeLauncey. This man was Harrow of Dagonet's Brook, named for a Worshipper, and he was a master huntsman. Skilled with axe and spear, a mountain of a man, he stood before a great stag that was savaging the Lord, and tore it to shreds. A head full of red hair was his distinguishing feature, and so he was called 'The Lion'. Harrow was knighted Sir Harrow Harrowgate, and instantly fell on hard times. The House has risen with Dagonet, however, and is now well-off, if not wealthy. However, their recent rise means they are regarded as little more than commoners, and regularly spat upon. But never in Dagonet's presence.

Player Base: Kevin McKidd

Dagonet is a beast of a man. Six foot three and equipped with a wirey smile and enough muscle to crush armour, the easiest comparison is a docile, well-fed African Lion. He smiles often, walks with a skip to his step, and can wear full plate as if he was born to it.

Dagonet, or 'Dag', as he likes to be called, is one of the nicest men you're likely to meet. Always with a smile and a kind word, the man exhudes optimism and good will to all those around him. Such is he that he is often shunned by people, but he doesn't mind - he knows that his common blood is a major deterrent to a great many people. As is the case, you'll most likely find Sir Dagonet lounging in a tavern or alehouse not far from Castle Licorn, where he is well known and accepted as not really a noble. Indeed, he has earned the title of 'The Commoner's Champion' for his constant habit of speaking out for the peasantry in all matters. Don't mistake him for a loud man; Dag gives off more that of the kindly uncle who has settled down to tell the kids a tale rather than the bawling relative, carrying them about. He is always smiling, always pleasant, and drinks socially, but not too excess. It is truly rare to find a kinder, more genuinely good man in the world.

But as a man is the nicest in his good moods, so can he be fierce and deadly in those bad. Indeed, Dag does not believe in revealing negative emotions, be they anger or sorrow, but even he can be pushed too far. In his smiling mood lies the heart of a lion. Beware the nice ones, my friends, for there are none so nice as Sir Dag of the Spear, and none so terrifying in their seldom-employed fury. To see this man in a rage is rare, but the violence he employs is cruel to the point of sadism, but enormously practical. This is a man who did not even blink an eye when he killed a man in a tourney, and is well-known for screaming and bawling like a berserker of old. Fortunately, this rage is as hard to pull from him as blood from a stone. In most fights and sparring, Sir Dagonet is a highly competent swordsman, a magnificent axeman, a spearman without match. However, he has no real aim - in the Tourney of the Bow, he consistently comes last, to which he responds to with a laugh and a wink. He's far from a sore loser, though he has a wandering eye for women of his age, most notably red headed ones. This is his true flaw in the order; Sir Dag will fuck anything with red fur that was born in the same year as him. He's come close to being disgraced several times, and has five bastard children to his name, none of which he regrets. His habit of calm, but genuine, courtship has seen many women come through his bed, but his wandering eye means that few stay there for long.

However, he is easily led. He's very much one for honour and trust, and considers his fellows Horns completely above reproach, to the point that he would die to defend their good name. When he trusts someone, it is very easy for them to simply lie to his face, and he will believe them.

Just don't get The Red Lion angry. Don't let him find out you used him, or lied to him. And don't cheat in a Tourney. He'll kill you.


"Publicly known? Well."

Sir Harrow Harrowgate takes a seat upon the chair, with a great thump. The man is not athletic; he is bulbous and fat, with glimpses of muscle on his bared arms. A burly man gone to waste. You sit in a sturdy, well-furnished merchant's house, with a great shining shield above the hearth - never used. Sir Harrow is well-past his prime, easily into his early fifties, but still retains an animalistic look to his eyes, a common drawl, and a thick beard of burning red hair.

"What ye' all know is that my lad was born on a cargo-ship three leagues off the Western coast o' the Vandermark. An' he was born a commoner. A forester's son. Big lad, he was, came out bawling so loud we though' he'd ruin us! But ol' Bertha, she set him right."
The old huntsman looks across towards his wife, a woman just as heavy as her husband, but with the muscle to account for it. The look in the Old Lion's eyes is one of pure love, and it warms your heart a moment to see it.

"Anyway. He's a commoner. First eight years, he was. We got a shitty cotta-" A small stool flies across the room, catching Harrow on the forehead. For a few seconds, he balances forward, but his attempt to remain seated is unsuccessful. He falls to the stone flags, with a great thump of flesh.

"NO SWEARIN' IN ME 'OUSE, YE NO-GOOD BASTARD!" Roars Bertha Harrowgate, before turning and marching right on back to her kitchen. Without a word back, Harrow gets back into his seat and continues.
"- a run-down cottage, but we got by. Dag lived in the forest. Good for 'im, aye, because it was in those forests that I saved the life o' Lord Marcus DeLauncey. Aye, aye, lad was a few paces be'ind me! Great massive stag, mayhap seven winters old. Nastiest thing I've ever seen, and it had gored m'Lord's horse like it wasn't nothing, Going for his Lordship aswell. Well, us weren't having any of that."
Silently, Bertha enters the room and slaps a thick joint of meat atop the Old Lion's face, where a bruise was rapidly developing. A stern, uncaring look is emblazoned upon her face as she stomps out.

"I throw my axe, useless, but it distracts the f-...forlorn beast. But it's my spear I'm charging with. Nine feet of heavy, weather-worn oak tipped with eleven inches o' Westerland steel. A beauty. Went for the throat, caught the ribcage. I was a muscular beast back then, so my running breaks the shaft off in the beast. But I get the heart, and that's that. Lord Marcus gets up, all shocked like, asks me to bow, knights me then and there. Gives me two hundred acres. A thousand silver coins. Makes me nobility. Thank Gerald he did it so quick, as the shock 'ad to have 'ad something to do with it." A little chuckle is pushed through from the commoner's mouth, and he leans back, hand holding the meat to his head.

"Dagonet saw the whole thing. Used to worse. Saw his big brother ridden down in the streets when he was little...we don't talk about li'l Garrow..." The man goes silent for a few moments, collecting himself, fighting a flood of emotion from an old well. But he soon continues.

"And instantly, 'e was shipped off. Had to go through all those Knightly muck, aye? Hurt me to see my son go, but we produced a few more while he was gone."

A chuckle could easily be heard from the kitchen.

"I got most of this next from hisself, so you'll excuse the boasting. He got paged off to some squatty little place in The Hollows, a family trying to gain favour with the DeLaunceys. They treated him alright, nothing special. He got good at fighting, but he was always pretty nifty. No, it was his squiredom under Sir Percival that got him to glory. Sir Percy taught him to be nice and quiet in the hall, but a damned fury on the field. Got him working with spears and axes. Became mighty nifty with a spear; both of 'em!"

The man slaps his thigh as he bursts into laughter, before continuing.

"Sir Percy quietly informs The Horns they might have something here. Commoner's son, but damned good with a spear, and takes all that Noble muck like water off a duck's, aye? So they tick his name, and young Dag becomes Sir Dag. And then disappears for ten years. Poof! Like a Worshipper back 'ome; one moment he's there, next, a ship to the East. See, my lad knew that the chances o' him learning the trade was next to naught in The Vandermark. My family's widely wanted in Arbrecht. Could go East, though. See what's there. Found an awful lot of training masters, a few revolts, and more scrapes than he'd like. Learned to use that temper of his. Became a master of the polearm.

Came back, wins five tourneys of the Spear and axe, and get's picked as an apprentice by the Horn of Vandermark, all in one year. Five months later, my lad is his successor. I ain't going into details cos' I simply don't know 'em, and neither do most people. But he becames Horn of The Gaian Spear in 234, and he's been going well since. Set us up with this wee house for when we visit. Good lad, my boy."

He nods, proudly, strongly.
Writing Sample:

"I love you."
"You love everyone, Dag."
"Does tha' change a thing?"
She was going to leave him. Sad fact, that, but it was bound to happen and she had every reason. Kata had found him rolling around with Lucy, and here they were.
"You're a pig, aye...A pig." She was just looking down at him, awful disappointed, awful sad, as if she'd expected different from. Hell, the woman had given him three children, she knew him. Loved him enough to expect a little rough playing. But with her sister? Shit.
"I am, Kata. I am. But I love you. Luce was just a wee bit of fun." It was said honestly, truly, because Dag meant it to his very bones, but the woman's mind was made up. A heavy sound strummed across the room as she struck him, hard. Wasn't much to him, had been in worse, but it stung his heart.

That was life for him. Couldn't keep it in his trousers when it came to lasses, wasn't much looking to, anyway. He was a Knight. He had a few spawn to keep alive the blood, and that was all his Dad had wanted, and so he wasn't under any pressure to be sensible...except from the other Horns. But that didn't much bear thinking about. Oh, they'd grumble and groan once they'd heard of this...

Thing was, people itched to get rid of Sir Dagonet. He was a contradiction in terms. A Pauper Knight from The Vandermark? As it's martial representative? Such a thing was unheard of! Such a thing was damn near scandalous! But it all faded away when they saw The Red Lion, in his shining red and silver armour, carrying a nine foot polearm gilded with gold, and saw the man work his way, well...
The Vandermark was rather proud, then.

[Time Line Events]

Year 204: Dagonet born.
Year 212: Harrow knighted as Sir Harrow Harrowgate.
Year 216: Squired to Sir Percival
Year 224: Knighted, journeys to the East
Year 234: Returns; becomes Apprentice Horn
Year 235: Becomes Horn of The Gaian Spear

Family Genealogy:

-Sir Harrow Harrowgate -- Bertha Belden
-- Sir Dagonet Harrowgate 'The Red Lion' -- Kata Menzel
--- Richard 'Catcher' Harrowgate
--- Jon 'Cub' Harrowgate
--- Evie 'Jaws' Harrowgate
                                                        -- Lucille Menzel
--- Cauthern 'Pot' Harrowgate
                                                        -- Melissa Redborn
--- Hildred 'Scrap' Harrowgate

Last edited by Dagonet Harrowgate; 12-26-2011 at 01:55 PM.
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Old 12-23-2011, 01:11 PM
Cassius Theodore DeLauncey
Second Son
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The Vandermark


baller. we have the illest horn, ya dig?

APPROVED. now go fight for the honor of the Mark!
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Old 12-26-2011, 01:13 PM
Geoffry Tanear
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Great, approved, my brother.
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Old 12-26-2011, 02:12 PM
The Lioness of Forsilvra
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